


Castiel and Crowley TNM Episode 5:  The First Flood

by WatchingOne



Series: Castiel and Crowley: The Next Missions [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5122163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchingOne/pseuds/WatchingOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Crowley are flung back through time to a city that exists only in legend and myth....what were the Angels protecting there? And what was it that caused it to sink beneath the waves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unlucky Charm

# Unlucky Charm

Aziash strode confidently through the crowded plaza, head held high. It was a a market day, and the smell of fish filled the air. Aziash grimaced. There would be no more of these _common_ smells to assail him after today. The press of the crowd and their stink of sweat. The eyes of the merchants on him, hungry, wanting to take his hard earned coin. He would be beyond that after today. _Above_ it. He practically glowed with a confidence that, while his body found strange, he found suited him indeed.

The merchants, shoppers and even the city guard watched him warily. By now, word would have spread of the _incident_ last night and his newfound abilities. He had single-handily taken out the entire gambling den that held his markers, guards included. He smiled inwardly. It was about time that people respected him.

He glanced casually at the glowing stones that marked the border of the marketplace. Even here in the daylight giving off their strange luminescence. They ran in lines along the cities structure, acting like a guide or map. They seemed to _sense_ when someone was looking for a direction, and glowed brighter on the path that they sought as they approached them. His were practically on fire, a blazing cobalt that indicated direct purpose and clear resolve. There was no room for interpretation here.

He had been wanting to try it for a week. He had felt himself growing stronger and stronger after each _treatment_ , and there were people that needed to be....put in their place. Debts had already been settled. Now, it was time to acquire a station.

His stride carried him right to the steps of the palace itself, seamless white veined marble set with glowing blue stones in geometrical designs at their sides, each stone gilded in fine veined gold. His intention was a challenge. A challenge to the greatest person in the realm. Once he won that, his status would be set for life.

“There are no citizens allowed into the palace proper”, the guard at the top of the steps called down to him. He regarded Aziash like a pig that had suddenly wandered into a banquet. Aziash grinned. This would be _entertaining_.

“Oh, I am no ordinary citizen,” he answered, his voice carrying. “But I can hardly blame you for thinking so. I am here to cement my legacy, you see. And today is the day that I do it. On the back of that overstuffed primping fool in there that currently sits upon the throne.”

The guard looked at his partner and frowned deeply. He slapped his faceplate down, a silvery mask that looked intricate and decorative. But Aziash, well, all Atlantians knew, this was the steel of the Gods themselves. Thin as paper, and harder than tempered plate. It was said nothing could break it. The pair began to walk down the steps towards Aziash, in perfect synchronization, hands on sword hilts. Aziash cocked his head, waiting.

They reached the step just above him, looming over his head and looking down.

“Citizen, did you just threaten the court?”, the first guard asked, his voice a low rumble. “You realize the penalty for that, of course?”

Aziash grinned back wickedly. “You are welcome to try,” he replied, his smile twisting to the side, mocking and uncaring.

There was a flash as the guards drew their swords. The air itself hummed as the Atlantian steel glowed in the air. The blades were also legendary. They could cut anything; stone, steel, it didn't matter. Infused with the power of Atlantis as they were, they were a force beyond nature.

Aziash yawned and grinned lazily, looking back at the rather sizable crowd that had now gathered behind him. He gave them a wink and turned back around. He shrugged at the guards.

“I'm waiting,” he said, gesturing with his thumb behind him. “They are as well. You know your duty.”

The guard squinted at him, his fingers tightening on his sword pommel, knuckles turning white. “You _wish_ to die?”, he asked, incredulously. Aziash saw sweat breaking out on his temple. The guards were not used to being challenged. It didn't mean that they were untrained or unprepared, however. They sensed there was something _off_ about this encounter. The not knowing what it was was making them more than nervous.

“I'll make it easier for you,” Aziash said, his gaze lowering and his smile disappearing. “I am going to walk up those steps, enter that palace, and kill the new emperor.” He shrugged. “Perhaps everyone else in there as well if you don't stop me, that is.” He met their eyes, unblinking.

“And here I go....”

He took a step forward, brushing the swords aside lazily with his arm. The guards, as one, grabbed him by the shoulders, attempting to pull him back.

He stopped.

“Now, we can begin,” he whispered.

His left hand flashed to the neck of the guard to his right, grabbing him around the throat. The movement was faster than the guard could follow, judging by the look of shock in his eyes behind the faceplate. Aziash flexed his shoulder and lifted the guard into the air. The sight must have been extraordinary, as Aziash himself was a slight, slender man. He heard a gasp from the crowd as the guard began to struggle, his plated boots kicking into empty space.

The second guard grabbed Aziash's arm, trying to force him to let go, but his eyes widened in shock as he began to realize that he couldn't move it. He stared in disbelief at Aziash, who smiled back. The guard let go, stumbling back a step. He looked up at his partner, then slashed his sword down viciously towards Aziash's shoulder, looking to separate it from his very body.

In another flash of movement, Aziash shot out his free hand and _caught_ the sword in mid-swing. He raised his eyebrows at the guard, and, with a flick of his wrist, broke the Atlantian steel in two, holding the broken tip firm in his hand.

There was a burst of blue light and a ringing in the air as the destroyed weapon clattered to the ground. The crowd let out a gasp in awe and there were actually more than a few screams of panic. Aziash glanced up and saw more guards rushing out of the palace. He dropped the one that he had been holding in the air, his strangled and lifeless corpse tumbling down the last few stairs. In the same moment, he slammed the shard of the Atlantian blade into the top of the head of the second guard.

As his body fell, the dozen or so palace guard on the steps above him hesitated, their eyes wide in fear. Aziash looked down at his arms and saw that his body was glowing in a cool blue light. Not the light of Atlantis, something else. Something more powerful. He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath, feeling the power surge through him.

He rushed up the stairs to meet them.

***

The emperor of Atlantis heard the clash and commotion outside and raised his eyes from the ledger, cocking an eyebrow.

 _Curious_ , he thought, closing the book slowly and rising. _I wonder what this could be about_....

A figure pushed the large doors open and walked into the court, confident, purposefully. He was covered in blood, and it didn't appear to be his own. He leveled his gaze at the emperor, and rushed forward.

The emperor held out a hand, calmly.

“Stop, “ he said simply. His voice was calm, relaxed. The man slowed, almost by reflex. He stopped, chest heaving.

“Are you going to plead for your life, now?”, Aziash asked.

“Not really,” the emperor replied cooly. “I am...curious as to your motivation here, citizen. Why exactly do you wish to _try_ to depose me?”

Aziash hesitated. “Isn't it obvious?”, he answered, exasperated. “I'm simply doing what you did just over a week ago. I am entering the palace, and taking the throne. By force.” He took another threatening step forward. “If it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me.”

The emperor smiled evilly. Aziash felt his blood run cold. “And? Citizen? Do you _really_ think that you're good enough?”

“Well, I guess we're about to find out,” Aziash growled back, charging towards the throne.

***

 _Well, that could have gone a_ lot _better_ .... Aziash groaned to himself as he stumbled into his house, grasping his ribs, which he was sure were shattered. He bled from a dozen other wounds and the room spun. He had to reach his basement. He needed the magic.... _What manner of creature is the emperor anyway?,_ he thought as he grimaced and threw open the door to the steps leading down. He began to descend slowly, carefully.

He shook his head as he reached the bottom, squinting to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. A groan from the center of the room assured him that his captive was still there.

“Let me go....” the voice from the darkness rasped.

Aziash smiled wanly and lit a lamp, the soft glow showing the creature tied to the chair, exhausted, pale. He looked up at Aziash with weary eyes and squinted.

“What...what happened to you?”, the creature asked warily.

“Silence Djinn!”, Aziash snapped back. He didn't feel the need to converse with this thing any more than he had to. He just needed its' power. “You will need to heal me, as you have before.”

“That was before you imprisoned me,” the creature growled back. “Back before I knew what kind of a man you are...”

Aziash scowled. “Do no cast dispersions on me, Djinn, you are an unholy Demon, and have no right to judge me.”

“I am _not_ a Djinn....I have _told_ you that. Repeatedly. I am....”

Aziash held up a hand. “I know, you _claim_ to be an Angel. But I know what you truly are.” He examined the chains around the creature's arms and feet, chains that he had inherited from his father, a man of great renown. A Hunter of all things dark and evil. They could hold _anything_ not from the mortal coil, so it really didn't matter if the creature was lying or not.

Aziash had decided that it was a Djinn, due to it's supposedly inexhaustible energy and the ability to take human form. It kept claiming to be an Angel. An Angel named Castiel. Aziash had found him washed up half dead on the shores of Atlantis a week ago after stumbling over a rock while crab hunting. He had slashed open his foot rather badly. The Djinn was kind, and stupid enough, to demonstrate his power by healing him. He had lured him back to his house and captured him. A treasure indeed.

“Heal me, Djinn,” Aziash growled, leaning closer. “And then I will need more of your power. The creature that sits upon the throne is more powerful than I imagined.”

The Djinn raised his steely blue eyes to Aziash's own. “No,” he replied firmly.

Aziash sighed. “Do I have to remind you _again_ who is in charge here, Djinn?” The creature glared back, defiant.

“Very well.”

Aziash walked slowly to the wall and pulled down a needle forged of pure Atlantian steel. The Djinn's eyes went wide. Aziash walked forward slowly. A barely audible “no” escaped the Djinn's lips.

“Allright,” the creature finally said, shoulder's slumping. “Allright, I'll do it. Just....put that thing away.”

Aziash smiled. “I knew that we could come to an agreement.”

The Djinn placed two fingers on Aziash's forehead. He felt a cool rush of energy throughout his body, the pain vanishing. He breathed out in relief. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes. The Djinn was still glaring at him.

“We'll make it fast, Djinn”, Aziash grinned. “No need to make you suffer needlessly.” He went to a small stone alcove in the wall and pulled out a surgical knife. He strode quickly over to the creature and pulled back his head, finding the small scar on his neck where he had been working.

“I certainly don't want to accidentally kill you, that's a truth,” he said, smiling. He sliced in....and blue light began to slowly leak out. He breathed it quickly into his lungs, feeling it's pure, raging power bond with him. Aziash was careful not to let it all out, removing the knife quickly and holding a cloth over the wound until the bleeding stopped. He removed the cloth and smiled.

“That wasn't so bad now, was it?”, Aziash asked, smiling, condescending.

“You....you have no idea what you're doing. A human can't keep absorbing pure....”

“Hush,” Aziash said, smiling, feeling the power raging inside. “I know what I can handle, creature. I know exactly what I'm doing.”

He walked confidently back to the stairs. He would pay that demon emperor a second visit. And this time...

He stopped in the middle of the stairs. He felt ...he felt as if his insides were burning. He grabbed at his stomach, trying to force it down. It kept building, an inferno of fire. He tried to go back down the steps and stumbled. He fell onto his face and held up his hands in front of him. His eyes went wide with fear as he saw the pale blue magical light leaking from it, his skin cracking, burning.

“Help...help me...” he stammered, looking up in terror at the creature in the chair.

Aziash's entire body ignited in blue flame and burned away. The blue light hovered in the air and rushed back to the figure chained in the chair, flying into his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed out slowly, his skin becoming less pale, his eyes steady.

He looked around him in the empty basement, the last few ashes of Aziash spinning lazily in the air. He raised his manacled hands in front of his eyes and let them fall heavily back into his lap.

“Great....,” Castiel murmured to himself as the lamp in the basement flickered and went out.


	2. Perfect Match

# Perfect Match

“Sorry, luv, but you're going to have to repeat that...”

The young Atlantian messenger Jy-shiaj visibly shook, his skin going paler. In only a weeks time, the rumors regarding the business practices of his new employer were so outrageous, and sometimes just disturbing, to be almost unbelievable. He regarded the foreign man's cool, unblinking eyes and found himself wishing to be anywhere else. He shifted from foot-to-foot nervously, wringing his hands and took a slow step backwards. The man raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair.

“Going somewhere?”, he asked calmly.

Jy-shiaj jumped as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder with a slap. He looked around at the guard, who towered over him and shook his head slightly. Jy-shiaj's shoulder's slumped. He looked back slowly towards the foreigner, and gave him a nervous smile.

“Cert...certainly not you..your Majesty, a hundred pardons, “ he stammered, bowing his head and hoping to all of the gods that he hadn't offended him by using a Middle Eastern apology. No one had been able to determine where this man had come from. His raspy, almost sing-song accent hadn't been heard before, even in Atlantis, which was practically impossible, as the city was connected to all known lands.

The man didn't appear upset. But then again, if the stories about him were to be believed, this meant nothing. He was randomly violent, and unmerciful. Jy-shiaj swallowed hard, watching the floor.

“Oh, stop grovelling,” the man said. Jy-shiaj heard him stand up, his chair scraping against the tiled floor. “And look at me, for pity's sake.”

The messenger looked up hesitantly at the man. He was wearing that strange attire that he had apparently worn into Atlantis, a cloth tailored shirt in three sections, and a strange accessory made of Oriental silk tied around his neck. He didn't wear sandals, rather a black, hardened leather polished to a high shine. All of these were oddities in Atlantis, which, in and of itself, just made it all the stranger.

“Now, please, once again,” the man said cooly, leaning back against his desk.

Jy-shiaj nodded. “We...we have been unable to locate any Angel in the city named 'Castiel', your Holiness. We...we've checked everywhere. Everywhere!” He looked away, sweating profusely from his brow and swallowed hard once again. “It is as I said, I am sorry to report. He is not in Atlantis.”

The man nodded and rubbed his beard, moving back around his desk.

“My people told me, Jy-shiaj, that you had the single most comprehensive network of informants in this city....” He sat down heavily in his desk and tilted his head back, looking at the ceiling. “Were they wrong?”

Jy-shiaj shook his head. “N...no, your Most Powerful One....it is as they say...it's just that...he just isn't  _here_ ....he cannot be...”

The man sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered. “Can't expect you to just produce the choir-boy out of thin air, I suppose.” He swiveled back in his chair to face Jy-shiaj. “And what of the other matter?”

Jy-shiaj grinned, letting out a sigh of relief. At least on _this_ he had something to offer.

“Well, your Most Admirable....” he began. The man held up a hand, cutting him off.

“ Jy-shiaj?”

“Yes, your Amazingness?”

“No one likes a suck-up.”

Jy-shiaj frowned. “My most humble apologies your Worshipful One...but...what is a....?”

The man cut him off again, waving his hand in the air.

“It doesn't matter...just stop trying to give me titles. 'Sir' is perfectly adequate.”

Jy-shiaj nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, then, um...Sir...as to any unusual events in the past few days....there was a disturbance at the palace just yesterday.”

The man sat up, interested. Jy-shiaj smiled inwardly. That was a good sign.

“What sort of disturbance?”

“Well my Sir, apparently, there was a break in....several guards killed, the Emperor of Atlantis himself attacked....” he broke off again as the man held his hand up.

“ Jy-shiaj?”

“Um, yes my sir?” The man winced for some reason.

“ Jy-shiaj, do you think I'm a bloody idiot?  _Everyone_ in this bloody city knows about that! There were witnesses everywhere....did you think for  _one heartbeat_ that I wouldn't know about that?” The hand on Jy-shiaj's shoulder tightened painfully in warning.

Jy-shiaj let out a short yelp, but then smiled broadly, wagging a finger in the air. “Ah, but do those witnesses know the _identity_ of the attacker?”

The man regarded him and gave a small nod to the guard, whose grip relaxed. He leaned forward and steepled his fingers.

“There were reports that he fled the palace shortly after entering, broken and bloody,” he said, his head tilted to the side, waiting for Jy-shiaj to elaborate.

Jy-shiaj's smile broadened. “An informant of mine followed him home.”

The man smiled. “Interesting. It appears that you have indeed earned your reputation Jy-shiaj. Congratulations. You get to live another day.” Jy-shiaj relaxed, the guards hand left his shoulder completely. “So, tell me, “ the man continued. “Who is the attacker? And more importantly, where can I find him?”

Jy-shiaj shrugged. “That is the strangest part, my Sir, the man is nothing, a local fisherman and gambler named Aziash. He had debts piled up to the heavens. But recently, he seemed to acquire some kind of....strange power. The reports are varied.”

“Strange power is always a good topic. Please feel free to provide more detail to me, Jy-shiaj.”

Jy-shiaj nodded. “He broke into a gambling den the other night, and single-handedly killed the entire hierarchy there. There were very few witnesses to the event....but people claimed he had the strength of the gods, my Sir. He was actually  _glowing_ , some people report.”

“So, that's what happened at  _The Golden Harp_ ...” the man murmured to himself, looking to the side and tapping his fingers together. Ah well...good for business I suppose....”, he looked back up. “Please, continue.”

“Well, my Sir, he then showed up at the Palace the next day, and after being routed, returned to his home. My Sir...he has  _not left_ since. My men have been watching.”

The man smiled, nodding to his guard. “Excellent work, Jy-shiaj,” he reached into his pocket and casually flipped a heavy bag of coins at Jy-shiaj, who caught it in his hands and greedily looked inside. His eyes went wide. The Atlantian coins in it were worth a fortune.

“My Sir...surely...surely this is too much...”

The man shrugged. “I reward success proportionately, Jy-shiaj,” he said, turning towards him, his eyes narrowing. “Failure as well. Pray that you never have to find that out.” He held Jy-shiaj's eyes for second and strode out of the room, his guard trailing. “Now then, where exactly is the domicile of this Aziash?”

 

***

 

Crowley took in a deep breath of the cool Atlantian air and smiled.  _Now this, this is the life,_ he thought to himself as he looked back at his newly acquired establishment and the workers on ladders carving his name, in gold, over the front doors.

He had landed alone on a dock in the middle of a storm just a little over a week ago. He was completely disoriented and a little queasy after the Arcangel Suriel's' transportation spell. He thought he heard a cry as a figure next to him had stumbled and fallen into the churning waters. He had searched for what seemed like hours for Castiel, even jumping into the water and looking around. After the storm had passed, he combed the beachfront, but found no sign.

_Bloody Angel better not be dead_ , he thought to himself, frowning.  _Is it even_ possible _for Angels to drown?_ He shook his head. Probably not. He was here, somewhere. He just had to find him.

For that, he rationalized that he needed resources. He found himself in a city that only existed in legend.

He had followed the docks into the city, ignoring the strange looks at his bedraggled and no doubt strangely attired state. _A few centuries early for Msr. Armani, certainly_ , he had smirked to himself. Luckily, the language wasn't a problem...it was a variant of ancient Greek, heavily accented.

The city had many mysteries. The strange blue energy that powered street lanterns and decorated every corner. The lights also acted like a type of map. He found himself following those lights straight to a rather large and prosperous gambling den.

Imagine his surprise when he saw that it was run by Demons.

Of course, that was nothing compared to the surprise he gave them in return when he took over their operation. They were all regular Demons, never having encountered anything on the level of Crowley's power before. Once he had established, rather convincingly, that fact, they were more than willing to hand it over.

He then got busy acquiring information. As much as he could, as fast as he could.

Atlantis was a wonder. The sheer size of the city was incomprehensible, at least five times the size of modern-day New York, he had calculated by the maps and population reports he had obtained. It was located on an island smack dab off the west coast of the Iberian Peninsula, with no neighboring cities. Several villages, sure, but most of the population of the island lived in the city.

The city politics was the real wonder, however.

It turned out that it wasn't quite so unusual for Demons to have set up shop there. They had several. Angels as well. Pretty much every business or establishment there was set up and run based on the virtues, or vices, in his case, of the human condition. Gambling, Prostitution, even Oriental style opium dens - all run by Demons. Temples, churches, shelters, and, unfortunately, the military and local constabulary - run by the Angels. They seemed to co-exist in the city rather nicely as well. Sure, there were skirmishes, but no outright war. There was some kind of unspoken arrangement between the two parties to concentrate on their tasks; which seemed to be winning the hearts and minds of the local population to their respective sides. Crowley had been  _amazed_ . It was like a staging ground for the battle of the human soul. How had he  _never heard_ about this place before? Sure, there were the legends, but something that was this important to the powers that be in Heaven and Hell, completely disappearing from any record? That was worrisome. Something huge had happened here. And then it was buried, covered up, erased and forgotten.

That spelled danger. He needed answers. Castiel had seemed to know something about it, but the bloody fool had gotten himself washed away somewhere. Crowley's now extensive network had turned up no trace of him.

He shook himself out of his reverie as they neared Aziash's house, a moderate stone home – wholly unremarkable. Crowley scratched at his beard.  _This is the home of the man who raided the Palace?_ He shook his head. Good that he had brought minions.

“Inside,” he hissed at them. They nodded and proceeded through the door. A minute or so later, one of them poked his head back out and nodded that it was all clear.

Crowley strode inside and looked around. He saw the blood on the floor and followed it to a door that two of his men held open. They nodded at him.

“Sir, I believe that we've found him,” one of them reported.

“ Aziash?”, Crowly asked.

“No sir.... _him_ .”

Crowely's eyes widened and he hurried down the basement steps.

“Castiel?” he asked into the gloom. He was answered by a groan.

He held up one of the blue Atlantian lamps and saw the Angel strapped to a chair chained against a thick wooden support beam, silver chains around his wrists and ankles.

Crowley stopped and cocked his head. “Well now. You certainly look like hell.”

Castiel raised his eyes. “I've been stuck down here for a week. That Hunter was draining my Grace.”

Crowley's jaw dropped. “ _Hunter?_ Aziash was a bloody Hunter?”

Castiel nodded. “Atlantian version of one. He thought I was a Djinn, so...he wasn't exactly a very good one.”

Crowely smiled. “So....let me get this straight. You ended up in a  _Hunter's_ BDSM Dungeon?”

Castiel frowned. “A....what?”

“Nothing choir boy, nothing. Forget it. “ Crowley cocked his head. “What is it with you that makes you so  _irresistible_ to them?”

“With who?”

Crowley shook his head. “I told you- forget it. Now...let's see what we can do about getting you out of here, what do you say?”


	3. Back....back....way back

# Back....back....way back

Castiel watched with a curious expression on his face at the rails of blue light pulsing along the sides of the Atlantian streets embedded in the stone. He had recovered his Angel's Blade and coat from Aziash's home, then Crowley and his four Demon guards had led him out. The lights were beckoning their small group along a side street, and , upon reaching a thoroughfare, they blinked onto it and to the right. He looked around at other Atlantians, who had the lights next to them as well, doing the same for them, but in other directions. He glanced over at Crowley, who was studying him with a smile on his face.

“Impressive, isn't it?”, Crowley turned away, eyebrows rising.

Castiel frowned. “What's powering it?”

Crowley shrugged, “No idea. Impressive, though.” He deftly plucked an apple off of a fruit cart parked on the street. One of his Demons flipped the vendor a coin.

Castiel looked at the Demons, then back at Crowley. “Where did you find them?”

Crowley looked at Castiel in puzzlement. “Now, see? How do you not know that? I thought  _you_ were the one that would know everything about this place.”

Castiel looked towards the blue sky, noting the golden spires visible from the cities' center. “There are...holes in my recollection, actually.”

Crowley nodded stiffly. “Naomi. Yes. Heard about that. Real nasty piece of work, that.” He regarded Castiel and scratched at his beard. “You did seem to know exactly what Suriel was talking about with that 'Earth-point-Zero' nonsense, however.”

Castiel nodded, looking around at the crowds. A few of them regarded Crowley and him with a look of puzzlement, but otherwise continued on their way. The people here were diverse, and some strangely attired visitors were probably not a novelty.

“Care to elaborate on that?”

Castiel shook his head dismissively. “Every Angel knows it. There was a great battle here. The city itself was destroyed and sealed away. It's legendary. ”

Crowley frowned. “Look, I know how you Angel's get all excited about smiting cities and all, but why this one? It's a cultural center, and as far as I've seen so far, an exemplification of the balance between good and evil – mankind in the the middle, free will abounding. So what happened?”

Castiel grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. He let out a breath. “I....I don't remember, Crowley. Something...something went seriously wrong, but I can't recall what. All I remember is that an entire Legion of Angels was sent here to sink the island. Also, they were instructed to seal the area behind Angelic wards. Anything approaching the exact location would be lost forever – sent to another realm. That's why there's been so many disappearances off of the coast of Florida over the years.”

“So, the Bermuda Triangle myth is real, then?”, Crowley murmured. “Wait a second Castiel, I've seen maps...we're closer to Greece than Florida.”

Castiel nodded. “It's been eons, Crowley. The tectonic plates have shifted the coordinates significantly.”

“Eons?” Crowley looked around. “Castiel, I hate to cast dispersions on your Angelic wall calendar, but this can't be more than a few thousand years ago from our time. Look,” he continued pointing at some lettering on a building. “Ancient Greek. Also mixed in with some Latin. There are visitors here from the mainland as well. I've met with them.”

Castiel turned towards him. “Did you ask them which city they were from? Did you see any of them listed on your maps?”

Crowley frowned. “No, the maps only named Atlantis, and the people never mentioned it to me. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” Castiel replied, sighing. “Here, I'll show you.” He broke away and walked casually up to one of the lines of street vendors, perusing them until he found one selling maps of the world, along with various other parchments. He picked one up and held it out for Crowley to

read. Crowley walked over, took the map from Castiel's hand and glanced over it. His mouth turned down and his forehead creased as he read.

“ _Antioches_? _Werdian_? What's this one?” he asked, looking back down at the map and then back up at Castiel “ _Dionelys_? Castiel, it's where London is supposed to be....what's all this about?”

Castiel nodded, taking the map back and placing it carefully back on the vendor's cart, smiling at her, shaking his head and holding up his palm, indicating he was not interested in buying it.

“There's something you should know about the history of the Earth, Crowley.”

Crowley cocked his head. “I am assuming you mean something beyond what is readily available, obviously.”

Castiel nodded, moving closer to one of the stones with the streaking blue lights. He squatted down next to it and began to tentatively reach out his hand, apparently thought better of it, and turned to Crowley.

“When I most recently returned to Earth, at first to help Michael trigger the next Apocalypse, Zachariah told Sam and Dean that we have done it before. Several times.” He straightened up. “The modern world is built upon the dust and ashes of several millennia of existence, Crowley. Entire civilizations and cultures have come and gone and now there isn't a thing left of them.” He looked pained, staring up into the sky. “Angels are very, very efficient, Crowley. This is the era just before the modern one, but much older than what you are thinking.”

“How old?” Crowley asked, eyes narrowing.

Castiel sighed. “I would say roughly seven million years BC.”

Crowley coughed. “ _What_ ?”

“I told you. Much older.”

“Castiel, how is that even  _possible_ ? You yourself just said that  _all_ evidence of these ancient cultures was wiped out. Plato wrote about Atlantis rather recently, if we're going by your time-frame.”

Castiel nodded. “Atlantis was a hub of culture for the entire world. That much I remember reading about in Heaven's archives. I said Angels are very efficient. But they aren't perfect, as you are  _so_ fond of reminding me.” He raised an eyebrow at Crowley, who smirked back.

“Certain artifacts and writings remained. Plato ran across some of them that the Greeks still held. It's happened before. Like the Klerksdorp spheres they are uncovering now in South Africa. Sometimes things escape Armageddon.”

Crowley held up a hand “Ok, fine. We're in pre-pre-pre-pre-to the  _nth_ degree history. Accepted. Onto the meat of the matter. I'm getting a warning in the back of my head whilst listening to your little history lesson that we are nearing some type of Apocalyptic event – is that correct?”

“Very probable.”

Crowley sighed. “OK, then the contingents of Angels here then are something I will be needing to keep a closer eye on....”

Castiel frowned. “Angels? What Angels?”

Crowley sighed even louder. “Castiel, those holes in your memory are  _truly_ an enormous problem,” he groused. “You asked me where I found my Demon friends here. Well, they're  _everywhere_ in this city Castiel. Angels as well. The place is split up like districts, with businesses in each one. The Angels run the virtuous ones – Demons, the less than savory ones. It's a perfect balance, actually. Truly impressive.”

“And the people?”

Crowley nodded. “They are free to choose. Fall or rise.”

Castiel looked around as they turned into a less populated district. The buildings were not as pristine, and the shops and their patrons were beginning to look questionable. “I've heard of this before....”

“What?”

Castiel shook his head. “Some scholars in Heaven...I remember hearing them talking about a 'Proving Ground' of some sort. A neutral place where they could test the human soul. I wonder if this was it.”

“Could be,” Crowley said slowly.

They reached an open plaza and Castiel stopped and groaned. He raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed his eyes. “Crowley,  _what is that_ ?”

Crowley smiled broadly as he looked up at his name etched in four-foot high gold letters over his new gambling casino. “Our new home office. Don't you like it?”

Castiel shook his head slowly. “You've been here less than a week now, and you've...started your own business?” Castiel looked up and to his right, frowning, seemingly distracted by something.

Crowley shrugged. “Man's gotta make a living, after all. Seemed like a ripe opportunity, if you know what I mean....”

He watched as Castiel was turning his head from side to side, studying every detail. “Castiel? _Castiel_?”

Castiel looked back to him. His eyes were wider and his brow had broken out in a sweat.

“Castiel, if you don't mind my saying, you are looking rather nervous .”

“We....we should avoid finding the other Angels.”

Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets. “Ok, why?”

“Well....because of....me, actually.”

Crowley frowned. “You. What about you?”

Castiel's mouth narrowed. He licked his lips. “No,  _ me _ , me, Crowley,” he answered slapping his palm rapidly several times against his own chest. “Because of  _me_ .”

Crowley's frown deepened. “You, you...sorry....not following.”

Castiel looked around and grabbed Crowley by his jacket, maneuvering them firmly and quickly into a side alley and the shadows. The Demons moved quickly to Crowley's side.

“Hey!”, Crowley complained. “Castiel,  _what in the bleeding Hell_ has gotten into you?”

Castiel looked around nervously and then back to Crowley. “I can hear them now....” he said, whispering.

Crowley nodded, squinting up at Castiel. “Hear them....Ok...I am going to take a wild guess here and say that we're talking about Angel radio. Correct?”

Castiel nodded quickly. “I can hear them....” his eyes narrowed. “Crowley, I can hear  _me_ .”

Crowley looked at him in momentary confusion, then his eyes widened in comprehension. “Ah, I see.... _you_ , you.”

Castiel released his jacket and stepped back, nodding.”That's right, I'm already here. In Atlantis. Crowley...I can't....”

Crowley nodded, straightening his jacket. “Got it. Can't meet up with your past self. Might cause some kind of universe destroying paradox or something. Right. We'll make sure that doesn't happen then, OK?”

Castiel shook his head violently, moving inches from Crowley's face. The Demon guards moved threateningly towards him, but Castiel backed them up with a menacing glare.“No, Crowley, that's not it. I mean, if I'm here, we're in serious, serious danger.”

“I heard you, Castiel, mortal danger. Time paradoxes, flux capacitors, got it....”

Castiel shook his head again.

“Crowley, that's not it at all. You only know the me as I am now. Do you have  _any idea_ what I was seven-million years ago?”

Crowley met his eyes calmly. “Enlighten me.”

Castiel's eyes burned. “A soldier of God, Crowley. A perfect, unquestioning soldier of God.”

“Yes, and?”

“Not an Atlantian businessman. Not a scholar, Crowley. A  _soldier_ . If I'm here right now....it's for one purpose, and one purpose only.”

Crowley cocked his head. “Your here to fight a war.”

Castiel nodded slowly, stepping backward, head turning back to the sky. “Or I'm here to start one.”


	4. Future Conditional Tense

# Future Conditional Tense

“How are you doing in there, sport?”, Crowley asked from the doorway. The room he stood before was small and cozy, with several candle holders overflowing with melted wax, the candles themselves had burned out long ago. The room was still well-lit by blue Atlantian crystals set in the wall and a small fire burning in a marble hearth. The walls were decorated with fine oil paintings and silk draperies hanging over windows set in a wall facing towards the east.

Castiel looked up at him, his eyes haggard and red-rimmed, bags under them as well. He made a motion to straighten out the scattered papers in front of him, almost brushed over an ink pot, and sighed.

“Nothing new to report,” he grumbled. “I don't suppose there's anything from your side, either?”

Crowley shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked in. “Well, you know Demons. Lots of talk, nothing of real value, though.”

Castiel frowned heavily. He picked up a hand-written sheet in front of him, gave it a cursory glance, and let it fall back to the table.

“There has to be _something_ about to happen here. Why else would so many Angels be gathering?”

Shortly after Castiel had discovered that his past self was among the Angels currently in Atlantis, he had heard that several other members of Heaven's elite had begun arriving. A disturbing number of them were soldiers. He had sequestered himself in a room in Crowley's casino and been listening in on them for two days straight. He refused a break, and even with his considerable level of endurance, he was beginning to show wear and tear for it. Crowley watched him, feeling an unexpected bloom of concern.

“Dunno, Castiel,” he replied quietly, sitting down across from him at the large wooden table.”Can you remember a time before when so many Angels had gathered in one place?”

Castiel nodded, looking off to his left before looking back at Crowley.

“Yes.”

“And...?”

“You're not going to like it.”

Crowley sighed. “Undoubtedly. Because, for me _especially_ , Castiel, nothing screams 'fun, happy party time' like a city full of bloody Angels.”

Castiel nodded again, wincing. “I see your point.” He leaned back, looking away again. “The last time – well, the last time....in my future....this is giving me a headache - this many Angels gathered in one place was before the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Fun times,” he replied simply.

“Exactly,” Castiel answered, non-plussed. “The cities were then subsequently burned to the ground. Now, we all know that this is supposed to happen to Atlantis as well. It was, well, _will be_ consumed by a flood.....”

“Now, here's a question, Castiel....does that necessarily _have_ to happen? I mean, we have been sent back here for a reason, correct?”

Castiel shook his head. “It's not that simple...”

“Why not? We figure out what unsealed the portal here, put an end to it, fine, I have no problem with that....but does the city _have_ to flood? I mean...” he looked around the room and licked his lips. “I have a great enterprise running here now, Castiel.”

Castiel let his arm fall heavily to the table with a thump. He stared at Crowley, mouth slightly open. “You _cannot_ be serious....”

Crowley shrugged, offended. “What? I've been the King of Hell for years now, Castiel, but I have _never_ had a revenue stream like the one I've built up here in only just over a week. A _week_ , Castiel . Can you really blame me for wanting to at least make an _attempt_ to preserve that?”

Castiel gave him a half-smile and continued to shake his head. “I suppose not...but it doesn't matter. The city _will_ sink.”

Crowley grimaced. “How so?”

“God's plan,” he answered simply. He looked up at Crowley and saw the bemused look on his face. “Look, Crowley, certain things about the past and even the future are not changeable.”

“Go on.”

Castiel nodded. “ _Small_ things can be changed. For example, your gambling den here. You've never actually been here before...but technically, _now_ you have..if you consider our current timeline as a base point....”

Crowley winced. “Castiel?”

“What?”

“I understand that headache part now....”, he grumbled, pulling out a flask and taking a sip.

Castiel frowned. “The gambling den is a new thing in the timeline, but it isn't a major change, do you understand that?”

Crowley nodded. “Believe so. So what you're saying is...”

“...small things are allowed, big things are not. Those are the rules. Atlantis sinking. Well, that's more than a big thing.”

Crowley rubbed his chin. “Allright then. Rules. Those I can deal with....”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Honestly?”

“Of course. Now I know that there are some. Now all I have to do is find a way to break them.”

Castiel shook his head slowly. “Crowley, there _is_ no breaking these rules...”

“And why not?”, Crowley answered, indignant. “Who enforces them? God himself? I doubt that. He doesn't put in too many personal appearances, at least in my experience.”

Castiel looked at the table. “Not God. Worse.”

Crowley wrinkled up his face. “Worse? Worse how?”

Castiel looked up. “Fate. Well, three of them, to be accurate.”

Crowley cocked his head. “Fates? Like the Norns from Greek mythology?”

Castiel nodded. “Exactly them. They are appointed by God to keep the timeline as...well, the best word to describe it is, as 'clean' as possible. That means no serious deviations from a certain pattern.”

“What happens if it does? Deviate that is?”

“Then it unravels. All of it. Chaos. God's plan relies on a certain level of order. Look, Crowley, there is no perfect destiny, everything isn't set in stone, but certain things are. Deviation from that pulls order apart.”

Crowley nodded. “Now that's a script that I'd kill to get a hold of.”

Castiel smirked. “Also not possible. No one knows it, and it isn't written down, Fates included. They are only _warned_ when something is out of order. Then they intervene....with extreme prejudice, I might add. They are also very, very good at their work.....do you remember the incident with Balthazar and the Titanic, for instance?”

Crowley shook his head.

“Exactly,” Castiel grunted.

“What about Prophets? They're let in on it, correct?”

Castiel nodded. “Prophets of God are sent specifically to warn and chronicle when events are reaching a pivotal point.”

“Sent by whom? To warn who, exactly?”

“Sent by God. To warn the guardians of God's plan. the timeline is not just protected by the Fates. It's protected by Angels as well. The Grigori, specifically. You've met a few.”

Crowley nodded, mouth twisting in disgust. “Unfortunately, yes. Particularly uptight and self-important breed, and that's saying something...”

Castiel ignored the insult. “Anyway, the Grigori are the first line of defense. If a Prophet appears, they will watch, and intervene, if something is going wrong. If the Fates need to become involved, then it gets too...well, messy.”

Crowley stood up and began to pace. “OK, Castiel. So, those are the ground rules. Now it's my turn, then.”

Castiel watched him moving around the room. “Your turn to what?”

“To extrapolate the pertinent information from all of this heavenly mumbo-jumbo, of course, and find out what to do about it”, he answered, turning to Castiel. “Because honestly, Castiel, what you just told me raises some serious issues.”

Castiel frowned. “Like what?”

“Well, first and foremost, what was that bink Suriel _thinking_ sending us back here in the first place?”

Castiel's frown deepened. “Excuse me?”

Crowley shrugged. “Well, if we aren't allowed to change anything important, we're wasted here. Because, obviously something seriously wrong has happened. If we're powerless to stop it anyway, what's the bleeding point. Do you follow me?”

Castiel leaned forward in his chair. “No, Crowley, there has to be a reason she sent us here...”

“Uh-huh...maybe just to get us out of the way, then.”

Castiel closed his eyes slowly. “Not this again.”

“Yes, 'this again',” Crowley shot back. “I refuse to trust _anyone_ in this little endeavor, Castiel. Except yours truly, of course...”, he stopped a moment, considering.”And even _I_ don't trust myself that much....but that's besides the point...Suriel could be behind this mess for all we know. And we could be standing on our watery graves as direct result of her actions. Unless, of course, we _do something about it_!”

Castiel sighed. “Anything else?”

“Actually yes. You said that the Grigori are responsible for watching God's little timeline, right?”

“Yes...”

“Well, is _Ramiel_ one of those?”

Castiel nodded. “Of course he is. He's the commander of them....” His face paled, looking up at Crowley.

“And yet another of our primary suspects appears,” Crowley finished. “ Odds are, we're dealing with at _least_ one of our opponents, then. Is he here now?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, he isn't, but him coming here could....”

“Could what, Castiel?”

“Well, it could explain why so many Angels are gathering in the city....”

“A VIP inspection, after a fashion, “ Crowley mumbled, nodding to himself. “Still, none of these questions are what's bothering me the most.”

Castiel stood up, bracing himself on the table, leaning over his notes. “What is?”

“You also said that if the timeline were greatly altered, then everything plunges into chaos, God's plan unravels, am I right?”

Castiel nodded. “I also said that it's impossible. There are defenses in place....”

Crowley held up a hand. “Undoubtedly, Castiel, undoubtedly, but, just for arguments sake, something _were_ to happen to this timeline, and chaos reigns.....” he stopped pacing and leaned slightly forward towards Castiel, cocking an eyebrow. “...then _who_ just won?”

Castiel slumped back into his chair. “Not us...”

“Not us”, Crowley repeated. “Now, actually, now that I think about it, I am going to say that everything is not as grim as it appears.”

Castiel looked up. “Why not?”

“Because, I am going to go out on a limb here and say that that portal that appeared in our future that proceeded to rip everything apart means that something _did_ happen with God's plan...that makes me hopeful.”

Castiel frowned. “Why?”

“Because that means I'm finally getting the hang of this present-future nonsense. It means that _whatever_ went wrong, we can now do something about it. It means that the Grigori, and the Fates, and all of the other 'perfect' failsafes that you mentioned, _actually_ failed utterly, and the timeline _was_ fractured.”

“And this is good....how?”

Crowley smiled. “It means, Castiel, that Suriel may have actually sent us back here for a reason. It means that you and I also have free reign to fix it. Because no one else did. Not the Grigori. Not the Fates. The ball is in _our_ court....and that's just the way I like it.”

Castiel shook his head in confusion as Crowley strode out of the room.

“It also means that I get to break the rules, and I might _actually_ get to save my new business as a result, despite what you think is going to happen,” Crowley grinned, looking back over his shoulder short of the door. “Now, let's see if there's a certain Angel VIP coming to town, shall we?”


	5. Hidden Betweens

# Hidden Betweens

“I have to hand it to you Castiel, when you manage to stumble upon something, you hit it full steam,” Crowley said from the hallway outside of Castiel's study, leaning on the door-frame with both hands in his pockets. A messenger from Jy-shiaj's crew bowed to Crowley, accepted a bag of coins for his payment, and hurried away. Castiel, still bleary-eyed, looked up at Crowley and grunted.

“Ramiel is going to be coming here then, I assume?”, he asked.

Crowley leaned away from the door frame and pulled his hands out of his pockets, and moved into the room, nodding slowly and looking at the floor. “You bet you sweet bippy. And, there's more.”

Castiel cocked his head. “More?” He frowned and scanned his notes. “There hasn't been much new information lately. Housing arrangements for the Angels that are arriving, planned parties....”

“Ah-ha, parties....”, Crowley said, raising a finger and pushing it down onto the stack of papers. “You must realize, young Padawan, that not everything is in the ready information. Sometimes you have to read  _between_ the signs.”

Castiel shook his head and looked up at Crowley. “What?”

Crowley smiled. “Have the Angels been discussing as to  _why_ one of their illustrious leaders is coming here?”

Castiel shuffled through his notes again. “No, not really...”, he muttered.

“And what have they been talking about?”

“Politics, mostly. Policies that the Emperor has recently enacted.”

Crowley's eyebrows raised. “And that tells us?”

Castiel squinted. “They're here to meet with the Emperor?” He shook his head again. “Crowley, that doesn't make any sense. Angels explicitly stay out of political dealings.”

“Luckily, Demons don't,” Crowley said, sitting down and propping his feet up on the reading table. “And if you combine the gathering of the Angels with the recent political upheavals, well, you get the entire picture.”

“Upheavals?”

“The new Emperor took the throne by force, you know this, correct?”

Castiel nodded. “Not unusual, actually.”

Crowley nodded. “What  _is_ unusual, however, is  _when_ he did this.”

Castiel squinted. “When?”

Crowley nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, when, Castiel. Of course, you wouldn't be privy to this particular information as you were spending your free-time in your old friend Azaish's basement at the time....”

Castiel glared at him.

Crowley held an appeasing hand. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Now, where were we?”

“The Emperor.”

“Ah, yes,” Crowley said, leaning back further and steepling his fingers. “It seems that the rather violent take-over occurred at the same _exact_ point of _our_ arrival here, Castiel.”

Castiel nodded. “That is rather an interesting....coincidence.”

“You think?”, Crowely quipped back sarcastically. “Add that to the fact that since his takeover the lights in the city have been, apparently, more intense. And he has recruited and increased the Atlantian guard ten-fold, outfitting them all with Atlantian steel. Rather expensive venture.”

Castiel shuddered. “Something's  _wrong_ with that metal, “ he muttered.

This time it was Crowley's turn to look puzzled. “Wrong? What do you mean by 'wrong'?”

Castiel sighed and glanced away. “Aziash, he had a....tool crafted of that material. I...I can't fully explain it, Crowley, but when it made contact with me, it...burned, Crowley. Just barely touching it was enough. It burned like nothing else I've encountered before. It seemed to set my entire body on fire.”

“Interesting....,” Crowley said, drawing the word out. “I've handled it myself, you know?” Castiel looked back at him. “Nothing unusual about it, as far as I could tell. Extraordinarily strong, granted. And it seems to be infused with that strange blue Atlantian energy, but otherwise, it didn't effect me.”

Castiel nodded. “Like I said. Something is wrong with it.”

Crowley shrugged, ignoring the slight. “We'll have to look into that further, if we have the time.....nothing  _too_ torturous, just a scientific undertaking, if you will. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. It seems that the Emperor is throwing a little soiree this evening, invitation only.”

“That doesn't necessarily mean that Ramiel will be attending,” Castiel cut in.

“True, Castiel, however, “ Crowley answered, raising a finger again, “but it's who's  _not_ attending that tells me that he is.”

Castiel frowned. “What do you mean? Who's not going to be there?”

Crowley leaned forward on the table. “Everyone, Castiel. Absolutely everyone is not going to be there. Not one single political figure or party member is invited. Or Demon boss. There's quite the scandal going on right now, Castiel, if you're listening. It's never occurred before - a grand celebration at the palace without a single member of the ruling parties in the city invited.” He leaned back, smiling.

Castiel nodded. “I agree. It must be the Angels then. But, why would they agree to this? Like I said...”

Crowley cut him off. “I know, your type stays out of politics.” He paused, considering. “Maybe it has something to do with what we just talked about.”

Castiel cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

Crowley shook himself out of reverie and stood up, pushing the chair away. “I wonder, Castiel, if you'd accompany me outside for that little science experiment I just mentioned?”

 

***

Dusk was beginning to set in as Castiel and Crowley settled down in front of the large stone block set at the corner of the Atlantian street. It pulsed with blue energy, but didn't flash in any particular direction.

Crowley placed his hand on it. “It's cool to the touch, even though it must be at least 85 degrees out here.” He nodded to himself. “OK, Castiel, your turn.”

Castiel looked at the stone, and then back to Crowley warily.”My turn to...what exactly? Touch the stone?”

Crowley nodded. “Yep.”

Castiel looked back down at the stone. “Why?”

Crowley shrugged. “Just call it a hunch....more of that 'reading between the lines' thing.”

Castiel shrugged back, knelt down and regarded the rock and the pulsing blue light closely. He held out his hand tentatively, then turned to look back up at Crowley. “Do you want to clue me in as to what you're expecting to happen here?”

Crowley's eyes glinted. “Not necessarily, Castiel. Sorry. Better just to try it out.”

Castiel sighed, set his jaw, and placed his palm carefully against the white stone.

He exhaled violently and was instantly flung backwards several feet. He landed on the street and rolled until he came to a stop face down. Smoke rose from him as he groaned and gasped for air, his body tense.

Crowley strolled over casually, hands clasped behind his back. “You OK?”

Castiel slumped to the ground. “Crowley....” he growled menacingly.

“What?”

“You...you  _knew_ that was going to happen, didn't you? Why....why didn't you warn me....?”, Castiel muttered, working himself into a lounging position, resting his elbow on his knee as he caught his breath and stared up at Crowley, anger coming off of him in waves.

“Oh, come now, Castiel, you're still breathing, aren't you? Besides, would you have done it if I _had_ warned you?”

Castiel shook his head. “No. You're probably right. But still....wait,  _how_ did you know?”

“The Atlantian steel. You told me you had an adverse reaction to it when Aziash employed it on you. Since it's infused with this energy, I had to see if that was what's causing it.”

“So, you didn't know....” Castiel mused.

“No, not one-hundred percent, to be sure,” Crowley muttered, rubbing his chin. “Allthough, unfortunately, several pieces just fell into place....”

Castiel squinted up at him, holding out his hand for Crowley to help him up. “Unfortunate how?”

Crowley grabbed Castiel's arm and helped him to his feet. Castiel brushed off his trenchcoat and held his hands on his knees, still breathing deeply, squinting in pain.

“I'm very keen at keeping an eye out for my opponent's weaknesses, Castiel. Also in leading them into disadvantageous situations....”

Castiel frowned. “Yes, and?”

“And, it appears that Angels have a particular allergy for this Atlantian energy, such as it is. Combine this with the fact that since the new Emperor's arrival the energy output has increased, and there are now more guards than ever equipped with this steel... _and_ that there's a meeting happening tonight with said Emperor and a host of Angels....”

Castiel paled. “It's a trap.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, Castiel, it's a slaughterhouse.” He started walking purposely back to his Casino. Castiel followed.

“We have to stop him.”

Crowley nodded. “Look, Castiel, I have no idea what game this fellow is playing at here, but I do know a few things now. It's deliberate, it's thorough, it's devious, and it's pissing me off entirely.”

Castiel frowned, catching up and walking next to Crowley. “Why is it pissing you off?”

“Because deliberate, thorough and devious is  _my_ game, Castiel. And I'll be damned if someone else is going to play it while I'm in town. Come on.”

 

***

 

Crowley sent for Jy-shiaj himself and also some city maps, which he laid out on a large marble dining table when they arrived. Castiel watched him, standing with a good distance between himself and the blue Atlantian light poles that lit the large reception room.

“Shouldn't we be doing something about the ambush?”, Castiel asked, watching Crowely circle areas on the map.

“We are,” Crowley answered. “Obviously, we can't just go charging in, we don't have the muscle for it. Add to that the fact that you'd be completely helpless against any guard armed with Atlantian steel...”

Castiel grimaced. “Not useless. I'll just have to avoid being hit.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows at him. “And how long do you think you could manage that?”

Castiel bristled. “You'd be surprised, Crowley, I'm pretty fast when I need to be.” He shook his head. “But, I agree, it's not a good move....charging into a trap designed to slaughter Angels.”

Crowley nodded, turning back to his maps. “Exactly. So, we need an alternative method.”

“Which is?”

“Well, since we're running out of time rapidly, good old fashioned sabotage, actually,” Crowley answered. “Ah, Jy-shiaj, come in,” he said, gesturing the man forward as he entered the room, escorted by two burly Demons. He waved at the maps on the table. Jy-shiaj looked down at them and back up at Crowley.

“Where, exactly, is the city's energy source located?” Crowley asked simply.

Jy-shiaj smiled. “Atlantis is the jewel of the world, My Crowley sir. It's energy is in every rock, every stone, lighting it as a beacon for enlightenment and joy.”

Crowley didn't blink. “Great. Now. Once again.  _Where is the source_ ?”

Jy-shiaj shrugged. “I...I apologize My Crowley sir...but...I just told you...it is  _everywhere_ .”

“I don't bloody buy that for a second,” Crowley growled, looking back at the maps. “There's got to be a source. A central distribution point. That much energy doesn't just disperse itself and remain self-sustaining. It's coming from somewhere, Jy-shiaj, and you're going to tell me where.”

Jy-shiaj scratched his head and frowned, considering. “It is common knowledge that every stone in Atlantis is infused with it's energy. No one has ever spoken of a source, or a reason for it.”

Crowley nodded. “What about the quarry? Where does the stone come from?” He gestured at the island maps.

Jy-shiaj shook his head. “It comes from the mainlands, My Crowley sir. Not from here.”

“Interesting. And does the energy only come to it once it's placed here?”

Jy-shiaj nodded.

“And has stone that has been infused ever been exported off of the island?”

“Yes, My Crowley sir.”

Crowley winced. “OK, Jy-shiaj, it's endearing, truly, and it was entertaining for a while there...but, now it's just plain annoying. Just call me 'Sir'. Can you manage that? Please? For everyone's sanity.”

Jy-shiaj nodded quickly. “As you wish, 'Sir.' As to your question, once stone , infused or otherwise, leaves Atlantis, then it's power leaves.”

“Fades out, or cuts off immediately?”

Jy-shiaj considered. “I have heard reports that it takes some time, but, eventually it leaves.”

“Are the stones in the center of the city stronger than the ones on the outskirts?”

“Yes, sir. There are actually some small fishing villages on the outskirts of the city that have no power at all.”

Crowley nodded. “Castiel?”

“It's a central source then for sure. Somewhere on the island, centrally located. Somewhere where the stones carry the most power. We'd have to spend a lot of time locating it, though. Time we don't have, the reception is less than an hour away, “ Castiel replied.

“You don't have to go looking for that,” Jy-shiaj said, shrugging.

“What's that?”, Crowley asked.

“The place where the stones are strongest...everyone know where _that_ is,” Jy-shiaj replied nonchalantly.

“Well,  _we_ don't, “ Crowley answered, annoyed. “Care to fill us in there, sunshine?”

“The Temple of the Deep,” Jy-shiaj answered, shrugging. “It is a holy place. The stones there shine all day and all night, like the moon on a clear night.”

“And why didn't you mention this before, when we asked you for a source?”, Crowley growled.

Jy-shiaj shrinked back. “Apologies, sir, truly. But I never considered it as a source or anything like that. It is simply a Temple. There are several of them here in Atlantis. It is just the brightest of them all. I....I never considered it....”

Crowley waved his hand in the air. “It's OK, stop panicking, simple mistake to make. On your way. Minion – pay him.”

One of the Demon guards in the room tossed Jy-shiaj a bag that clinked heavily into his hand. He smiled profusely and hurried out of the room.

“So, we have a target, at least, “ Crowley said, sighing and circling a point on the city map in red charcoal.

“But no way of knowing if we can shut it off,” Castiel said, looking at the place that Crowley had marked. “Pretty shaky plan.”

“Sometimes the best ones are, Castiel. Sometimes the best ones are.” He straightened up from the table.

“Let's hope this is one of those.”


	6. Raid Night

# Raid Night

“Lord Crowley?”

Crowley and Castiel looked up at the Demon who had entered the room where they were prepping their team for the excursion to the Temple of the Deep. They had assembled a team of five Demons, and a few of them already had their bags of equipment, ropes and various weapons strapped on and ready to go. Crowley was packing away several maps, and Castiel was flexing his hands in a pair of form-fitting cured leather gloves. They had discovered through further experimentation that they allowed him to touch Atlantian energy-infused stone without hurting him.

“ _Lord_ Crowley...?”, Castiel looked over at him, cocking an eyebrow curiously.

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly. “What, it's an appropriate distinction, if you ask me.” Castiel shook his head slowly and checked to be sure he could still handle his Angel's Blade with the gloves on. Crowley nodded to the Demon.

“There's some....visitors here to see, you, sire,” the Demon continued, shifting his posture.

Now it was Crowley's turn to raise an eyebrow in question. “'Visitors'?....I don't like how you phrased that. Not one little bit.” He narrowed his eyes and stepped towards the Demon, who took a wary half step back.

“Once again, please. And this time, more specifics,” Crowley said, the threat very apparent in his voice.

The Demon's brow broke out in a sweat. “They....they...ordered me not to say, sir....”

Crowley looked down at the ground and his forehead furrowed as he replied. “I see.... aaaannnnd....what do you think would  _ happen _ to you if I ordered you to tell me anyway, and then you refused?”, he asked evenly, his eyes coming back up to meet the Demon's.

The Demon met his gaze, and shook. “I...understand sir. But...”

“But?”, Crowley answered, not breaking his piercing stare.

“Um....well, no sir, I wouldn't want that. But, in all honesty, I also don't want to know what would happen to me if I didn't listen to  _them_ , either.”

Crowley leaned a bit closer. “ _Them_ ?”

The Demon nodded, gulping. “It's, I can't....”

Crowley turned away slowly, nodding. “I see, damned if you do,  _mangled_ if you don't. I understand. It's just not your day is it?” The Demon opened his mouth to respond, but Crowley waved him off before he could, his mouth twisting down at the corners. He walked over instead to one of his guards in the room and whispered something into his ear. The Demon guard paled, met Crowley's eyes, who nodded in affirmation and then held out his hand towards the entrance. The guard nodded quickly and walked out of the room briskly. Crowley smiled, his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forward on his heels, whistling softly.

Castiel frowned. “What did you just ask him to do?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing,” Crowley answered, seemingly coming out of a reverie. “Just asked him to go out and say that he was me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Excused.”

Castiel titled his head, an impatient look appearing on his face.

Crowley sighed, exasperated. “Look, Castiel, very few people in this city even know what I look like. If something bad is going to happen to me, it'd be better if it happened to someone that wasn't  _really_ me, if you get my drift. It's one of the benefits of keeping a low profile.”

Castiel snorted. “Says the man who has his name over the door in ten foot high gold letters.”

“Five. And, hey, maybe it's nothing. That guard could be perfectly fine. Probably.” Crowley shrugged, stuffing some more maps into a water-tight case.

The Demon guard came back into the room a couple of minutes later. He looked pale and shaky.

“See?”, Crowley said, indicating him with his hand. “ _Mostly_ OK. All's well.” He walked over to the guard and clapped a hand on his shoulder, staring him in the eyes. “Report?”, he asked cautiously, noting the extremely frightened look on the guard's face.

“Uh...well, Angels, sir. There's a group of Angels here to see you.”, the guard replied, his voice low. Castiel straightened up, his posture defensive.

“And?”, Crowley asked. “What's so special about that? Am I in any danger?”

The guard shook his head, focusing back on Crowley. “Nn..no sir. They aren't here to harm you. They said it was an inspection...”

Crowley scratched at his beard. “An inspection? For what? Wait a second, are they even allowed to do that? I thought we were autonomous here in Atlantis. Demons on their side, Angels on theirs.”

The Demon guard nodded. “We are, sir. Or, at least, we're supposed to be. I've never heard of an inspection before....”

Crowley moved closer to him, studying his face. “There's more to it, isn't there...?. What's got you and your compatriots so spooked? Out with it.”

The guard swallowed hard. “Sir, one of them's...well, one of them is....an  _Archangel_ , sir.”

Crowley stepped back. Castiel paled.

“Which one? What's it's name?”, Castiel croaked out.

The guard turned towards him. “Ramiel, sir. The Master of the Grigori.”

“Red Alert!”, Crowley shouted after a moment of silence, startling everyone in the room. He whipped his head around. “What are you lot  _waiting_ for?! Now!!”

The guards jerked and ran out of the room. The sound of boots pounding on stone and wood floors began to echo all around them.

Castiel had walked over to stand next to Crowley. “What's 'Red Alert'?”, he asked.

“In case one of our mysterious adversaries decides to show up in person, Castiel. I have vowed never to be at a disadvantage to them again,” Crowley answered without looking at him.

“But Crowley, we don't even know _if_ Ramiel is one of our....”

“Better safe than sorry, Castiel,” Crowley answered, cutting him off. The cacophony of readiness had grown silent. Crowley nodded. “Now, let's go meet your family,” he said, clapping Castiel on the back.

 

***

 

Ramiel looked around at the guards that had sprung up around him and his party and sneered. _Crossbows and lances? Surely this 'Crowley' was joking._ First, he insults his intelligence by sending out an imposter. It was a valid try, but a few short questions put an end to that. He decided to announce his presence nonetheless. He now had all of the exits blocked by now anyway, if the Demon tried to run.

A pair strode out of a side hallway towards him, strangely attired. One, the Demon, was wearing a strange, straightened arrangement of layered cloth and polished shoes. His companion....Ramiel squinted. Was that....?

“ _Castiel_...? That can't be...you're back at our Temple. And what is that vessel that you're wearing?” Ramiel frowned, scanning this Castiel up and down. He was wearing an impractically long beige-dyed cloth jacket and a similar layered cloth suit underneath it, dyed a dark blue. “And what is this attire that you're wearing?”

The Demon and Angel looked at each other and frowned, then nodded in some kind of unspoken agreement.

“Ramiel?”, Castiel asked, stepping forward. “You wouldn't be able to recognize me from my current time-line.”

“Time-line?”, Ramiel repeated, squinting at him. “You are from another time-line?”, He rubbed his chin. “That would explain it. But, what are you doing here?”

Castiel stepped closer, warily. “We're trying to....prevent something from happening, Ramiel.” Before he could ask, Castiel shook his head, cutting him off. “I won't be able to explain it to you. Suffice it to say, even at this pivotal point, our presence here is necessary. So is not having our mission interfered with in any way.”

_We, our_ ? Ramiel's frown deepened. Then, with realization, his eyes shot from Castiel to the Demon. “Castiel, are you working  _together_ with that  _thing_ ?” His hand went instinctively to his Angel's broadsword, specially crafted for the Grigori. The guards surrounding him bristled in anticipation. He grinned, shaking his head. “Castiel,  _please_ , spare your Demon's guards lives. Those weapons will do nothing to one such as I.”

“Oh, really?”, the Demon, presumably this 'Crowley' asked, stepping forward. “Even if they're tipped with Atlantian steel?”

Ramiel froze. He glanced around him, taking a closer look. How....

“Where did you even get the resources and money to do that...?”, he asked softly, dread filling him.

Crowley grinned. “Ever hear of the Boy Scouts?,” he asked, then shook his head. “Of course not. Millennia before your time. Still. They have this great motto.... _Be Prepared_. It's become my life's calling, actually.” Crowley frowned. “Not being a Boy Scout, mind you,” he corrected quickly. “But the other thing, well, you could say that I'm the master of that.”

A deep growl escaped from Ramiel's throat. “So, this is a trap as well. You  _are_ working with that  _creature_ that sits on the Throne of Atlantis .” He drew his blade, taking a defensive stance. “Well, know this, Demon, I am still strong enough to take you with me. And that  _traitor_ as well,” he spat towards Castiel. “So come, do your worst!”

Crowley frowned, considering him. He held up a hand to hold fire from the Demons holding trained crossbows. “I think that we may actually have reached a misunderstanding here, Ramiel.”

“What in the Kingdoms of Heaven are you talking about, Demon?”, Ramiel growled back.

Crowley held up a hand, cocking his head. “Answer me this; you said 'A trap as well'.... are you talking about the Angel's meeting with the Emperor?”

Ramiel hesitated. What manner of taunting was this? “Of course I'm talking about the meeting, Demon! You damned well know that!”, he hissed.

Crowley nodded. “So, you know about that? Interesting....”

“ _Watcher_....” Ramiel answered sarcastically. “What did you expect? That I would blindly fall into your trap? Well, congratulations are in order, now that I consider it. You actually _did_ manage that. I did not see this auxiliary trap coming. You have anticipated my actions with a master strategist's wisdom. So, get on with it.” He braced himself.

Crowley looked around the room. “Lower your weapons,” he said calmly. His Demon guards complied instantly. He looked back at Ramiel, his eyebrows raising. “You as well, if you don't mind. As I said - there's been a misunderstanding. It appears that you're not who we thought you might be. And vice-versa. Now, before we all do something highly regrettable, not to mention needlessly messy....let's have a little chat, we three.”

Ramiel lowered his sword, warily. He nodded to his personal guard, who lowered their blades as well. He turned back to the Demon Crowley.

“Who did you think that I was?”

“We've been battling a hidden enemy - a rouge Archangel, who we have not been able to identify,” Castiel answered from the side. “You, obviously, have no idea about that conflict, at least from this point in time, so you can be trusted. For now.”

“I wouldn't go as far as  _that_ , Castiel,” Crowley grumbled.

Castiel sighed. “Crowley, for all we know, he could be the catalyst and reason that we're here in the first place. Let's see what we can find out.”

“Fine”, Crowley said. “But if he turns on us, that'll be on you.” He cocked his head at Ramiel. “So, information exchange time. How did you know about the trap at the gathering?”

Ramiel's mouth twisted in amusement. “Come now, the Atlantian energy increase? The Atlantian steel production? The invitation only meeting with all of the major Angels in the city? It's transparent.”

“How so?”, Crowely asked.

Ramiel shrugged. “Everyone in Atlantis knows that Angel's cannot tolerate it's energy....”

“...at least _now_ everyone knows that, in any case,” Crowley smiled, glancing knowingly at Castiel, who glared back at him in annoyance. Crowley turned back to Ramiel. “Please, go on.”

Ramiel shook his head. “The Emperor won his throne by force of arms. My informants told me that you set up shop here at exactly the same time. And so...”

“...so you came here today to determine if there was a connection,” Crowley mused. “And it never occurred to you that if I were actually associated with this Emperor fellow, that this could have been a trap as well?” He raised his eyebrows at Castiel. “See? That's what I'm talking about. I will _never_ let you Angel types plan _anything_.” Castiel crossed his arms.

“I am not defenseless, Demon, in case that you still felt like testing that fact,” Ramiel answered, his gaze lowering. “Now, my turn,” he looked towards Castiel. “How is it that you came to be working with one of these  _things_ ...”, he asked, his high level of disgust evident in his expression.

“Now that's enough of....”, Crowley began.

Castiel held up a hand. “Ramiel, stop it, please” he said. “If you examine our energy patterns, you can confirm that both of us are resonating with something that you should be able to readily recognize.”

Ramiel stepped back and narrowed his eyes at them. He scanned Castiel and felt the blood drain from him. He whipped his head at the Demon and scanned him as well. His jaw fell open. He felt absolutely numb.

“You...you're both....how...?”

Castiel nodded. “ _Both_ of us, Ramiel. We're  _both_ on a mission from Father. So, if you don't mind....”

Ramiel nodded slowly, dumbfounded. Crowley looked confused. He walked over to Castiel.

“Resonating...?”

Castiel turned to him. “Remember when Sam took on the Trials to close the Gates of Hell?” Crowley nodded. “He resonated from his mission as he became tuned into the energy from Heaven. We're the same way, as soon as we took on the mission from God's prophecy to stop the oncoming Apocalypse.”

Crowley looked at his hands. “I don't feel any different. Wait, are you saying I'm resonating with Angelic energy?”

Castiel nodded, a corner of his mouth twisting up in a grin.

“Oh, great....I'm going to need about a hundred hot showers....” He turned back to Ramiel, who was staring at the floor. “Um...Ramiel?” Ramiel looked up. “You going to be allright there, big-boy?”

Ramiel nodded slowly. “It's just that, Father speaking to a Demon....granting him a Holy Quest....Castiel, what exactly is  _happening_ in your time?” He sounded very frightened.

Castiel shook his head. “Too much to clarify, I'm afraid, Ramiel. And it's on a need-to-know basis. I can't jeopardize the entire time-line by revealing our mission to you at this time. You understand.”

Ramiel set his jaw and nodded. “Of course, brother.” He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. “Well, it appears we're on the same side here, at least. Now, how can I be of assistance?”

Crowley looked at Castiel and smiled. He turned back to Ramiel. “How do you feel about going on a little raid on the Temple of the Deep?”


	7. Of Traps and Temples

# Of Traps and Temples

The Emperor of Atlantis leaned back in his throne, holding up a parchment in one hand detailing the list of attendees to his reception, and a cooled Atlantian alcoholic beverage in the other. It was a mixture of pulped fresh fruit, a spice not wholly unlike cloves, a dash of fish oil, and fermented grapes, topped with a lemon wedge. It was considered a delicacy, being extremely difficult to mix, and a perfect balance to the senses. He took a sip and screwed up his mouth in disgust. Horrid stuff. He would have to see to it sometime in the near future that these Atlantians learned the finer points of aging and alcohol fermentation.

But not tonight. Tonight he had a much grander agenda. He continued to scan the list when his eyes suddenly widened in surprise. He leaned forward in his throne attentively as he re-read one of the names of the guests. His mouth started to curl up in a one-sided, twisted smile as he set down his golden-chalice with a hollow, echoing clank on the stone table next to him and grabbed the red-tinted chalk laying there among various other writing implements, charts, reports and two partially drunken flagons of other Atlantian 'delicacies'. He circled the name he had come across and leaned back, cocking his head.

 _Now this is indeed an interesting and unexpected development_ , he thought, letting the paper fall slowly to his lap, his mind racing with the possibilities of how he could use this to his advantage. Very, very interesting indeed.

His fist curled around the parchment, rolling it tightly in his hand and stood up quickly, striding into his throne room, his boots sending out sounds like thunder into the grand hall.

“Chamberlain!”, he shouted, his voice carrying in the empty, golden marble hall. A medium sized man with a long face shuffled out of one of the side chambers quickly, his feet muffled by silken slippers. He wore a multi-colored, elaborate long vest over Atlantian soft leather pants and a white , high-necked shirt, neatly pressed and crisp. His head was covered in a knitted cap of concentric Blue and White circles, ending in a symbol depicting the city. He kept his head bowed and hands together, not daring to look up at the Emperor.

“My Lord,” the Chamberlain said in a voice that was not quite a whisper.

“Are the guards all in place, per my instructions? Fully briefed?”

The Chamberlain nodded once, a small, gentle motion. “Yes, My Lord. Would you care to review them?”

The Emperor shook his head. “No, but I do have some new instructions for them.” He opened the parchment he was holding and shoved it under the Chamberlains nose, pointing at the name he circled there. “Do you know this Angel?”

The Chamberlain read the name and nodded again quickly. “Yes, my Lord. But, he is an Angel of little consequence....surely not worthy of your...”

The Emperor straightened up, placing a hand on the Chamberlain's shoulder, cutting him off. “It doesn't matter. Just....instruct the guards that he is to be spared.”

The Chamberlain gave a barely perceptible start. “Spared, my Lord...? Is that....alltogether...wise? Considering....?”

The Emperor nodded. “I understand. And agree. It will be dangerous. Extremely so. But it is of the utmost importance. This Angel is to be not only spared, but captured, subdued, and brought to me.”

The Chamberlain paled. “M...my Lord, that will be....”, he began, than frowned. He shook his head, then nodded once again in his short, precise way. “Yes, My Lord. I will see to it,”

“One other thing,” the Emperor said, his voice lowering menacingly. “If anyone _does_ happen to harm him, they will answer to me. Personally.”

The Chamberlain looked up briefly, his dark-brown eyes full of fear. He lowered them swiftly, gave a small shudder, nodded, and shuffled away quickly.

The Emperor watched him go, feeling a bit of uneasiness himself. There was something about the Chamberlain that put him off....He was not from the city itself. Alantians, as a rule, were born with sea-green eyes. An effect of the energy. Long-time residents developed them as well. This man was relatively new to the city, and had apparently risen high in the court in that short time. He shrugged. He was efficient and obedient. That was all that mattered. He walked slowly back to his throne and put the list back down on the table. He eyed his drink and sighed in regret. Alcohol distillation. An important topic to address.

 _All in due time, all in due time,_ he whispered in his mind, his eyes slowly narrowing, thinking over the plan for the night's meeting with the Angels. He looked over to the table and the parchment, the name circled in red – ' _Castiel_ ' – beckoning to him like a beacon. He smiled and leaned back in the throne, all sorts of possibilities running through his mind.

 

***

 

Twilight had settled over Atlantis as Crowley, Castiel, Ramiel and the small party consisting of a handful of Crowley's Demons and Ramiel's Angels walked along the streets, the blue lights in the stones blinking just ahead of their intended path. Castiel frowned at the lights.

“How do they work?”, he asked, turning slightly to Ramiel.

“Hmm?”, Ramiel answered, turning his head to Castiel, losing his reverie. “What was that?”

“The lights”, Castiel repeated, gesturing at them. “How are they able to read your intended direction like that?”

Ramiel shrugged. “I never really thought of that.”

Castiel's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing. “Never really asked? I thought that you were....?”

“A _Watcher_ , Castiel, not a scientist. Or a mystic, in this case,” Ramiel answered swiftly. “My duty is to observe the events on the Earth, and act only if His Plan is being deviated from.” He looked at the stones and the lights. “These magical rocks represent nothing for me to consider.”

Castiel nodded “Even when, technically, they're employing divination and prophecy?”, he asked, a note of sarcasm in his voice.

Ramiel gave a little start, question appearing on his face. “What are you talking about, Castiel?”

Castiel smiled. “Prophecy, Ramiel. They are predicting the future. Granted, only in a small portions, but still.”

Ramiel frowned deeply. “I never actually considered that, Castiel. If what you are implying is....”

Castiel cut him off, his tone turning serious. “I'm not implying anything, Ramiel. It's a fact. These energy infused stones need to be investigated. They are highly dangerous to Angels, but not Demons, they employ prophecy, which you and I both are aware is the scope of God's Plan. Add to that the fact that you told us that they have increased their activity ever since the Emperor arrived.”

Ramiel let out a small chuckle. “You are wasted as a soldier, Castiel. You should have been a Grigori....”

Castiel shook his head. “Ramiel, all levity aside....”

Ramiel waved his hand in the air. “No, you are correct Castiel. I will consider it.” He sighed heavily. “Anything effecting the Plan, even in small amounts, is tantamount to disaster. As if I didn't have enough to worry about....”

“The Emperor,” Castiel said grimly.

“That, plus the disappearances and murders around the city in the past week, and now this Atlantian energy puzzle....”

“Disappearances and murders? What disappearances and murders?”, Castiel asked. Crowley turned his head back as well.

Ramiel stopped, the group stopping with him “You haven't heard, then?”

Castiel and Crowley shook their heads.

“Look around you,” Ramiel said in way of reply. “Look at the streets.”

They followed his sweeping arm and regarded the empty streets of Atlantis, lit by the blue lights, saw nothing special, and shrugged.

“The people,” Ramiel said. “Where are the people? The bars are empty. Every window – shuttered tight. The people are scared out of their minds. Atlantis is usually alive with life, night or day”

“What's been happening?”, Crowley asked.

“Once again, this is something that started with the ascension of the new Emperor. People started disappearing around the city. Their corpses, rather mangled, I might add, showed up shortly after.”

“How many?”, Castiel asked, his voice low.

“More than I'd care to mention,” Ramiel replied. “And frequent. Not only that, precise.”

“Precise, what do you mean by 'precise', exactly?”, Crowley asked, looking about in the dark shadows of the alleys, suddenly more alert.

Ramiel nodded. “Precise. The attacks occur exactly every ten hours.”

“Ten hours?”, Crowley answered, puzzled. “That's pretty specific. Why every ten hours?”

Ramiel shrugged. “I haven't a clue. I only noticed the pattern.”

Castiel had stopped, stock still. He turned slowly to Ramiel, grave concern written all over his face.

“Where are they keeping the bodies?”, he asked, his voice hoarse.

“What? The _bodies_?”, Ramiel asked in return, his frown deepening.

Castiel moved forward swiftly, grabbing Ramiel around his tunic. “Yes. The bodies! Where are they? I need to see them!”

“Castiel, we don't have _time_ for this....” Crowley protested.

Castiel whipped his head towards him. “Intervals of ten, Crowley. _Intervals of ten_! Think! Does that sound familiar to you now?”

Crowley cocked his head frowning. Then his eyes opened in realization. All of the blood drained out of his face.

“Ramiel....where are they keeping the bodies?” he asked, his voice low and cracking.

 

***

 

The delegation of Angels entered the throne room and looked around. Several of the court members had been assembled. The Emperor himself was seated at the throne, one arm hung lazily over the side. The Angel in the front, Barnabus, had been put in charge while Ramiel was off on his investigation. He narrowed his eyes at the Emperor, glanced briefly at the nearly one-hundred Angels around him, and strode forward.

“You asked to see us?”, he said, standing in front of the throne, the annoyance in his voice poorly hidden.

The Emperor stirred, not looking in Barnabus' direction. “How incredibly rude of you,” he said slowly, his strange accent like a soothing melody. “Not even using my title.”

Barnabus bristled. “We are the guardians of this city, Emperor, not you. Despite what you may think. Our mission....”

The Emperor waved a hand lazily in the air, cutting him off. “Your....services are no longer required in _my_ city...”, he replied, turning slowly, menacingly to Barnabus. His eyes narrowed, scanning the Angels. “Where's your master? Where's the Grigori?”

Barnabus smiled mockingly. “He had better things to do, Emperor. That, plus he doesn't fully trust you.”

The Emperor stared at the Angel for a long time, the silence stretching. “How very wise of him,” he said slowly. “But, tell me, what could be more important than meeting with the ruler of the city of Atlantis?”

Barnabus shook his head. “That is his business. And, as I said, the affairs and politics of you _humans_ ,” he spit out the word,“is of little concern to us. Our mission here is appointed by God Himself, and is not subject to your whims.”

The Emperor smiled, amused.

“As I said before, your services are no longer required.”

Barnabus shook his head. “This meeting is pointless. You are a pitiful mortal. You have no idea of our purpose here, let alone have the authority to dismiss us. We are leaving.”

The Angels turned and began to leave the throne room.

“The Portal”, the Emperor said simply, loud enough for his voice to be heard throughout the room.

Barnabus stopped, paling. He spun around quickly, his lips curling into a vicious snarl.

“What did you just say?”

“Oh, I think you heard me just fine,” the Emperor said, his voice calm and soothing. “I know _exactly_ what you're here to protect. And, I am here to inform you, I will be assuming full responsibility for it's care and protection.”

Barnabus's face turned to stone determination. He drew his blade, the other Angels doing so as well. The rasp of metal echoed through the marble stone room. The court members gasped and stepped back. Some of them ran for cover.

“You are hereby removed from the throne of Atlantis!” Barnabus shouted. “You are to be brought before the Grigori Ramiel for questioning. The throne is put under our safe-keeping in the interim. Step down from your throne!”

The Emperor cocked his head, amused.

“You Angels,” he sighed. “Always so arrogant. It doesn't matter which century I'm in.”

Something moved like slow moving tar, _oozing_ from the shadows all over the court. They began to take on menacing, hulking form. The Angels whipped their heads around, confused, suddenly finding themselves surrounded by....

“What...what are these creatures...?!”, Barnabus screamed, taking a defensive posture as the creatures advanced, their jaws open and slavering onto the floor of the throne room. He saw Atlantian guards as well, positioning themselves around the doors and exits, effectively blocking them in. There was nowhere to run.

The Emperor regarded him coolly. “Why, they are the true guardians of the Portal, Angel. They are your Masters.”

 

***

 

Castiel and Crowley burst into the small stone cell and whipped the white sheet away from the body. Castiel stepped back and gave a low groan.

“”Bugger”, Crowley whispered.

“What is going on?”, Ramiel asked from behind them. He had led them to the warehouse where they had been keeping the victims. It was not far from the Temple of the Deep, it turned out.

Castiel rubbed his hand over his eyes and over his face. “We've seen corpses like this before,” he said, falling back against one of the stone walls of the room. “Our first mission together. We were investigating a creature that killed on ten year cycles. We were never able to determine the significance of the time, other that it had something to do with a summoning spell. A spell that was dependent on the factor of ten.”

Crowley nodded. “We decided to keep an eye out for anything following a similar pattern, for caution's sake.” He rubbed his chin and exhaled loudly. “Never figured on finding it here.”

Castiel moved away from the wall and indicated the victim's stomach. “They were all female, I take it?”, he asked, looking up at Ramiel.

Ramiel nodded.

“What does that look like to you?”, he said holding his finger over her stomach.

Ramiel squinted. “It's....as if something clawed it's way out of her stomach...not in...Castiel, what....?”

Castiel covered the body carefully with the sheet, his eyes closing for a few seconds before opening, burning intensely with focus. “This just confirms it. The wounds are consistent to the birthing. Every ten hours, you said?”

Ramiel nodded again. “About twenty victims alltogether. Castiel,....'birthing'? What did they give birth to?”

“Twenty....”, Crowley whispered from the corner. He looked up to Castiel. “Just _one_ of those things is enough to....”

“We have to get to that Temple,” Castiel replied, ignoring the implication. “And Ramiel, call back your Angels from that meeting. They are in more danger than you think.”

Ramiel frowned. “They've been warned about the Atlantian guards, Castiel. And yes, while their weapons are formidable, they are more than capable of....”

Castiel shook his head. “No, Ramiel, that's what the Emperor wanted you to think.”

“Wanted us to....? Are you saying that he has deceived us even further?”

Castiel nodded grimly. “To be blunt, yes.”

“How?”

Castiel's steely blue eyes met Ramiel's. “He wanted you to think that you could have won.”

 

***

 

The Angel Castiel stumbled against a pillar, the blow from the beast knocking him hard into the glowing Atlantian marble. He felt his back burn with the touch of the energy and took and step forward, gasping and falling to a knee. He looked around, the scene spinning in front of his eyes. Massive dark shapes moved around, ripping into the fallen corpses of the vessels of his Brothers. A few Angels still fought, but they were quickly overwhelmed, the ripping sounds echoing horrifically in the air. The creatures picked up fallen Angel Blades and snapped them like twigs. He groaned and tried to stand, failing. His Atlantian armor was shredded by a hundred different slashes from the monster's claws, but, luckily it seemed, none of the wounds were mortal.

“Now that's the proper stance required for servitude,” the Emperor's voice came from somewhere in front of him. He tried to focus his blurry eyes on the figure striding forward. He was blond, thin, and a vicious scar ran over his face.

“I...I will never bow to you,” Castiel growled, his fingers attempting to tighten around his Angel Blade. It slipped from his hand. He was too weak to hold it. He looked up in defiance at the Emperor, who was smiling down at him.

“I never said anything about bowing, Castiel. I just said that I needed you to serve.”

 

***

 

The group approached the Temple at a run. The blue light was like a beacon here. The energy was pulsing with a level of intensity that Ramiel had never seen before. It ripped through the surrounding air like lightning, the air itself seemingly burning. He stared in panic. He knew what the Temple of the Deep contained, and what the Angels watched over here. Ramiel had sent back one of his Angels to warn the delegates of the Emperor's trap, but he was beginning to believe that it was now too late. It had become clear that the Portal most likely had already been breached. Ramiel shuddered, looking up at the Temple. If that were true....

“What exactly is in there?”, Crowley shouted over the crackling noise of the pulsing energy.

“The Portal!”, Ramiel shouted back, not taking his eyes off of the Temple. “What the Angels are here to protect, at all costs!”

Crowley frowned. “What's it a portal to?”

Ramiel turned to him. “Haven't you ever wondered, Demon, why God and his Angels chose to stay and watch over Earth, among _all_ of the other myriad planets and life in the universe? Why is Heaven and Hell here? What makes Earth so special that it is _here_ that God has stationed his entire bastion of Angels?”

Crowley shrugged. “I figured that it was just his favorite....”

Ramiel shook his head. “No, Demon. It is where He sealed them away.”

“Sealed who? Sealed who away!?”

Ramiel looked back at the Temple, he drew his sword and started up the steps . He stopped about halfway up, turning back, fear and determination etched all over his face. The blue energy of Atlantis crackled around him like a hurricane. His cape billowed out behind him.

“The Old Ones,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the fury of unleashed energy. He turned his head back to the Temple, looking up at it's tall towers. “It's where Father locked the monsters away.”

Without another word, he sprinted up the remaining steps and disappeared into the Temple's front doors.

“Ramiel, wait!”, Crowley shouted. He looked to his right just in time to see Castiel, a similar determined expression on his face, Angel Blade in hand, run up after him. The other Angels followed close behind.

Crowley stood there with his Demon guards on the steps, mouth open. He looked them over and set his jaw.

“Well then, let's go where Angels fear to tread. What do you say?”

They ran up the Temple's steps through the cascading blue light, the darkness inside swallowing them up.


	8. Been There....Done That

# Been There....Done That

“Something good?”, Crowley asked, moving behind the Demon guard who had stopped to examine a gold-encrusted symbol on the floor in the middle of the Temple's entryway.  _What was this minion's name again? Xialias? Thialiatas?_ Crowley looked up at the ceiling, thinking for a second.  _Forget it, doesn't matter._ The Demon worked his fingers around an edge to the gold and pried up a piece, bit into it tentatively and dropped it back to floor, snorting in disgust.

“Not even remotely, sir,” the Demon replied. “Just regular gold.” He brushed off his knees and looked up at Crowley, who shook his head.  _'Just gold'? How much 'just gold' did Atlantis have, anyway?_ Not wanting to look ignorant or like a bumpkin, he snorted as well in reply and ran a hand over his mouth, looking around.

The Temple of the Deep was alive with blue Atlantian energy. It swirled and eddied in the air like a river current. It wasn't, however, as intense and loud as it had been outside. It was moving

much more slowly, lazily, wrapping around the marble columns and swimming up to the high-whalebone arched ceilings before cascading back down again. Crowley looked back out of the front entrance, and saw the energy picking up speed as it exited the door - eager to escape, seemingly. He grunted, entered the main floor and turned slowly, taking in the impressive room. There were blue silk cushioned benches lined up in neat rows, and small water basins at the end of each aisle. All were gilded in gold. Once again, the almost casual richness of the city astonished him. There were several intricate carved marble altars with moving streams of water cascading off of them. Castiel was bent over one of them, his hands working at something.

Crowley, frowning, walked over to him. As he came up on him, he saw Castiel tucking something into his trenchcoat, his back shielding Crowley's view.

“Castiel?”, Crowley said loudly, craning his neck to try to see over Castiel's shoulder, but to no avail. Castiel turned and stood up slowly, his eyes far away, as if in a trance. Crowley cocked his head. “Castiel? What have you got there?”

Castiel focused back on Crowley and shook his head slightly, his eyes clearing, the sharpness coming back, as if he were awaking from a dream.

“What? Did you say something?”, he asked Crowley, voice dry.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Actually, yes. I asked if you had found something there....” He looked around Castel at the altar, and noticed there was a silk cloth folded in a neat square, and an indentation showing where something round had previously been. “What did you pick up, Castiel?”

Castiel seemed to drift off for a second again before giving his head another small shake. “I...I don't know what you mean, Crowley.” He squinted around he room and located Ramiel and his Angels, who had fanned out over the great hall and were poking and pushing at walls and niches in the various carved alcoves, apparently searching for another door. “Come on, let's see if we can help,” he grunted, moving swiftly away from the altar.

Crowley watched him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He traced his finger over the indentation in the cloth and looked around the room for a similar altar. Spotting one, he moved over to it quickly, keeping one eye on Castiel, who was with Ramiel.

This identical altar had a similar square silk cloth there, but there was a medium sized lead cup on it. He picked it up and sniffed, his face twisting in surprise.

_Blood?_

He put the cup back down and tried to read the writing inscribed over it. It was in a form of Atlantian he did not recognize. He sighed, looking around.

“Xia...xialaistthhhhhtt?”, he called out hesitantly... ..the last syllable trailing off into an incoherent murmur. One of his minions raised his head from examining an indentation in the floor and stood up, approaching Crowley, an annoyed look on it's face.

“Xia-lass, sir,” the Demon grumbled as he reached him. Crowley grinned.

“Whatever. Can you read this?”, he asked, his finger waving over the writing.

Xia-lass sighed and bent over. “Yes, sir. It says :  _The Well of the Living Shall Open the Door to the Doomed_ .” He frowned. “Strange saying.”

Crowley nodded. “Any idea what it means?”

The Demon shrugged. “I just work here, sir, no offense intended.”

Crowley sighed. _Demons....it was like snarkiness was a permanent personality trait...._

“Fine, away with you,” Crowley grumbled. Xia-lass nodded and stalked off. Crowley looked over at Castiel warily.  _What on earth would you want with a cup of blood, Castiel?_ , he thought. One of the Angels gave a shout as he had located a door leading into the Temple's antechambers. The group of both Angels and Demons quickly moved over to him, Crowley going in last. Castiel's bizarre behavior had him on high alert. He wasn't about to take his eyes off of him. Not for a second.

 

***

 

“You....you're not going to kill me?”, the Angel Castiel asked, lifting his head up to the Emperor, who had his monsters drag him to a chair and were holding him tightly against it.

The Emperor smiled, twirling a silver spike in his hands. “No, Castiel, I need you for something. You will have....a quest to complete.” He gripped the spike and walked over to stand in front of Castiel. Castiel looked up, puzzled.

“A quest? For  _you_ ? I'm an Angel of the Lord. I serve only Him. I will never do your bidding.”

The Emperor's mouth twitched as he kept himself from laughing out loud. He bent down to stare Castiel in the eyes.

“What if I told you, that there were ways around that, Castiel? That if you knew enough about Angels....and more specifically, how they work....”

He slammed the spike into Castiel's forehead. Castiel screamed, and the world went black. A few seconds later, he felt his head rising back up on it's own, independent of his control. He felt a cold shiver go through him.

“....you can get them to do  _anything_ that you want...” the Emperor's voice purred at him, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once in the darkness.

 

***

 

The group moved through several narrow hallways. Crowley felt the slope of the floor. They were moving at a sharp angle downwards. The Angels checked doors that led off of the hallways every so often, but, finding the rooms inside unoccupied, had re-shut them and moved on.

Crowley noted the carvings on the stone hallways. He had seen decor like this before. In a basement in New Orleans, to be specific, just a few months earlier....or...a few million years into the future...he shook his head. Damned time-travel. His eyes followed Castiel's back, and he frowned. The choir-boy seemed to be moving stiffly. The last time he had seen body language like that, it was when he had been under the influence of the Attack-Dog spell from his mother. He shivered involuntarily, banishing the thought from his mind, turning back to the wall carvings.

Creatures from beneath dark waves crawled and surged onto the land. Humans either ran in terror from them or fell to their knees in praise and worship. He recognized some of the dark forms. Deep Ones. He shook his head. What he wouldn't give for five minutes back at his laboratory right now, and with what was in one of the holding cells there.....he needed answers, and he felt as if he were running rapidly out of time. One thing he was sure of however, the disappearances in town were the work of one of the Deep Ones, that was certain. The beasts followed patterns. The question was, who had brought them here?

He shook his head, smiling to himself.  _Don't be daft, Crowley,_ he admonished himself.  _You know damned well what brought them here, that new 'Emperor'._ The one that had apparently showed up at the same time that Castiel and he had arrived. That was too big of a coincidence to be ignored. He knew damned good and well whom this new Emperor was. The question was, what was he up to? And would he be able to stop the little shit in time?

Ramiel held up a fist as they reached a large gate, decorated with horrors wrought in iron. Crowley actually shuddered. He had seen one of those things up close and personal once, and had no desire to repeat that experience.

Ramiel and two of his Angels tried the gate, and , finding it locked, grabbed the bars and strained against it, attempting to pry it back.

It groaned for several seconds in protest, the mortar chipping and falling away in flakes. Finally, with a final jerk, and a far too loud sound of bent iron and falling stone, it broke free. The Angels placed it against the wall, drew their swords, and started down a dark spiral metal staircase, their metallic boots clinking on the metal. Crowley and his Demons followed.

His nose twitched in the musty air. It smelled of salt water and rusted iron. The staircase groaned and swung a little too much for Crowley's liking as they descended. He noticed the wisps of blue energy whipping in the air around him as well, seemingly floating upward and in the direction of the way they had just came. It moved as if it were flowing from somewhere down below. Crowley winced at the clanking noise of the Angel's footfalls and shook his head. Stealth was not, apparently, one of their strong points. And bugger all any chance at all of the element of surprise. Everyone in Atlantis could probably have heard them coming.

The energy grew thicker and thicker as they descended, until it had taken up every bit of the air surrounding them. The Angels began moving more slowly, Ramiel urging them to continue further, even though Crowley could see their skin turning red and sweat pouring from their pores. It must have been agonizing. He caught a glimpse of Castiel, who looked ….well.... _serene_ ....as if his thoughts were a million miles away.  _What in the bloody_ ....?

Ramiel reached a stone floor and silently gave the command for his Angels to spread out. The moved like wraiths in the blue mist over the ground, only the outline of their bodies visible as shadows as they took up defensive positions. Crowley watched Ramiel and Castiel move towards the apparent source of the blue light, nodded for a couple of his Demons to come with him, and followed.

The glowing blue light was as thick as a London fog, but began to pull away from a large stone wall that Ramiel and Castiel were standing in front of. Crowley squinted as he saw that there were glowing blue runes carved into the rock face. Ramiel was looking around for signs of resistance, but finding none, turned back to the symbols, frowning.

Crowley followed the patterns and grimaced. Something familiar. Something very, very, familiar....

He felt his blood turn to ice water as he realized what he was seeing. His jaw fell slowly open and his eyes widened. He stared in utter shock.

_Here??!!...Why...it simply_ can't _be_ ...., his mind shouted at him, trying to make sense of it.

 

***

“Are you listening Castiel?”, the Emperor said gently. Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes open and fixed, staring at nothing. The metal spike embedded in his forehead pulsed with blue energy.

“There is a task that I need you to accomplish Castiel. A Portal that I will need opened because, well, to be quite frank, me and mine cannot do it ourselves. You see, it must be one of our jailers that opens the lock.” He shrugged. “Willingness, thankfully, does not factor into it. But while forcing an Angel to do something is an act of utter futility, programming them to be  _compelled_ to do it is, well, more than adequate.”

He gave a small twist to the spike . Castiel shuddered. “ It's simply a manner of finding the  _right_ Angel to do it. One, say, that is more prone to stray from the path, to coin a phrase. Now, Castiel, listen carefully now....”

 

***

 

Crowley forced his jaw closed and his head flew to Castiel, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place. A bit too quickly for his taste....

Castiel was slowly drawing the cup out of his inner pocket, his eyes fixed and trance-like. Crowley shot forward, his Demon guards staring after him in confusion.

The blood.....

“Castiel...no! What in all of the bloody Hells do you think that you are doing??!! STOP!!”, Crowley screamed, throwing himself at the Angel as Castiel raised the cup to his lips. Ramiel turned to Crowley and frowned in confusion. He glanced to Castiel, his face paling as Castiel tipped the cup back, murmuring arcane words under his breath....

 

***

“Do you have it now?”, the Emperor asked quietly. Castiel nodded again, his eyes fixed and staring straight ahead. “Good”, the Emperor replied. He smiled.

“You will, of course, remember none of this until the time comes. No matter how many times they....reset you...this impulse of mine, using the power of Atlantis itself, that is, is much more deeply embedded. When the time comes....you  _will_ follow my instructions.”

He slowly pulled the spike out of Castiel's head. Castiel slumped forward, a breath of relief going out of him. The Emperor tilted up Castiel's chin gently.

“”That's the good thing about being an immortal being, you know, Angel? There is one attribute that you come to value more than anything when dealing with your enemies. Do you know what that is?”

Castiel's eyes searched the Emperor's own weakly. He shook his head slowly....

 

***

 

Crowley slammed into Castiel , knocking them both to the floor. He slapped Castiel across the face.

“Wake up Castiel! Spit it out! Spit it out!!” He shook Castiel as hard as he could. Crowley tried to force Castiel's mouth open, but groaned when he found that it was too late. Ramiel picked up the cup that had clattered to the ground and tipped it sideways, shaking his head at Crowley. It was empty.

Crowley fell back onto his backside, staring at Castiel. “What have you done, Castiel?”, he whispered hoarsely.

Castiel was watching him with hollow, unseeing eyes. He then seemed to snap back to awareness, he eyes darting around before focusing back on Crowley.

“Cr...Crowley,” he grunted, standing up shakily. “What....what happened?....The last thing that I remember...we were about to enter the Temple of the Deep....” He frowned and looked around, his eyes settling on the glowing blue runes. The room began to shake, a humming and vibration began to build in the wall in front of him. His eyes went wide in recognition. Crowley stood up and moved next to him, staring at the wall as well.

“That....that's impossible,” Castiel whispered.

“I know,” Crowley replied dryly. “Just like old times, eh?”, he said, a weak smirk appearing on his mouth.

Castiel looked at Crowley. “That's....that's a door to  _Purgatory_ , Crowley....what's it doing here?”

Crowley smiled, his head turning to the floor. “Your guess is as good as mine, choir-boy,” he answered.

“Crowley, it's been  _activated_ ....it's opening...what did that?”

Crowley turned his eyes back to him, the smile disappearing. “You did....as a matter of fact, Castiel.”

Castiel's eyes went from questioning to fear as the vibrations increased. Small blue cracks began appearing in the wall. They began to widen, blue light and a sound like.... _screams_ ....escaping from somewhere beyond it.

They both turned away from the cracking wall at the same time. There was no way to stop it. Purgatory was opening.

Then they ran.

 

***

 

The Emperor studied Castiel's eyes for a long moment and stood up, letting the Angel's head slump back to his chest. He smiled as he felt the floor shake. His creature, his Masters writhed in excitement. They could feel it happening as well.

The Emperor, the Old One that had taken the mortal name and alias of Joshua Vandecourte, turned back to Castiel and smiled.

“The greatest attribute for one of my kind,  _Angel_ , one of the Powers that be that your accursed Father sealed away, one of the Powers that swore revenge upon you and your  _entire_ race of betrayers, our greatest attribute is best summed up in one word, Castiel....”

He smiled, a primal, vicious smile, and bent forward, yanking Castiel's face back to his.

“Patience. We, child of the Lightbringer, are very, very _patient_.”


	9. 5/20/11

# 5/20/11

“He's done it,” the Old One declared, dark eyes watching the crystalline structure closely, something approximating a smile forming on it's face. “Master! Master, I beg you, come to me! He's done it!”

It turned, searching the darkness and murk for it's Master's form. The place that the Old One stood was nothing more than swirling darkness, chaotic patterns. One 'wall' of it's lair was covered in crystals of various sizes, jutting from the unformed mists into an unending curve and swaying gently as if blown by a gentle wind. Some of the crystals glowed. Others were darker, or fading, while some seemed to gather light into them. Occasionally, they moved, shifted. Such was the nature of reality. Of time.

It kept staring into the mists and was rewarded as the dark eddies began to flow together, coalescing into the semblance of a face, hundreds of dark, malevolent eyes blinking at it's servant.

The Old One shuddered, partly in pleasure, partly in fear. The power of it's Master filled the space, pulsing with pure, chaotic, surging energy. The Old One fed on it's Master's energy waves. Such was the reward of being in the presence of one of the most powerful of the Old Ones.

“ _Thou hast summoned me_...” a voice echoed in the darkness.

They were a bit melodramatic though.

The Old One suppressed a smile at the antiquated speech of it's Master. It bowed it's head to the ground, tentacles and smoke spilling forward in a slow drift towards the floor as it did so.

“Yes Master, I have called you hear to report that I have found the thread that I have been searching for.”

The Master's many eyes widened. It rushed forward into the dark space, gaining more form – a torso, covered in large pores, teeth and beaks in the center of each one, legs, of a sort, ending in tentacles that gripped the ground and slid forward. Arms formed lastly, powerful, with thin, rake-like fingers that dangled and danced in intricate patterns, as if weaving something in the air. The Old One watched it's Master in awe. It was drawing on the power of the Lightbringer's own universe to form a body for itself, drawing from that power, _consuming_ it. It shivered in pleasure.

“ _Show me_ ,” the Master rasped in excitement.

The Old One straightened itself and rushed over to the wall of crystals. It reached out a sharp-nailed hand and delicately tapped on the one that he had been watching, a crystal that's light had been building steadily for some time now. A strand of that light seeped out of the side of the crystal, and the Old One quickly and nimbly snapped two of it's fingers on it's end, pulling it tight. It then slowly, carefully began to pull the string of light taught. It shimmered, light falling off of the string like flakes. They touched the dark ground and continued to glow. A good sign; this strand was strong.

The Old One finally pulled the string completely out. The crystal iself, robbed of it's strand of light, dimmed and disappeared back into the endless wall. It handed the string with palms upturned to it's Master, who snatched it up greedily, pulling it tight between it's own fingers and moving it's monstrous head close to it, it's eyes soaking up it's brilliant light.

The Old One watched it's Master's eyes, and, reflected in them, saw the scenes unfolding as he had seen in the crystal.

The Angel Castiel stood before the blood symbol in Crowley's lair. He had already drunken the ceremonial blood and had opened the Portal. Purgatory stood open before him.

The Master grinned, rotten, spike like teeth dripping ichor glimmered in the light of the strand. He balled up the string in his hand, and turned away from it's servant, facing the swirling mists of chaos beyond.

It began to trace intricate patterns in the mists with it's many free hands, light seeping from his balled up fist containing the string of light and flowing into the symbols, floating there, charging them, giving them form. Making them _real_ – melding them with reality itself. Finally, the Master opened his hand in front of it's construct, and the rest of the light slammed into it. The Old One read it's Master's symbols briefly, and frowned, confused. The symbols glowed impossibly bright, then flew _through_ the darkness into the places beyond – into the actual universe itself. The Old One caught a brief glance of stars and galaxies - _Order_ \- before the mists swallowed them up again.

The Master let it's hand drop that had been holding the string and the gray flakes that were all that was left of it floated silently and gently to the ground.

The Old One still stood watching it's Master questioningly.

“Master?”, it said after a long time, as if summoning the courage to ask it's question.

The Master turned toward it, it's hideous face already beginning to lose form as it melded back into the chaos around them.

“ _Yes...thou willst something of me?_ ”, it hissed.

“Master...I...I do not understand. Please forgive me.”

The Master's many eyes narrowed. “ _What is it that thou would ask of me?_ ”

The Old One swallowed, terror welling up in it, at the very thought of questioning his Master...but still....

“Master, I read the spell that you wrought,” it said quietly.

There was a long silence.

“ _And?_ ”, the Master finally replied, annoyance creeping into it's tone.

The Old One shuddered, but not asking now would be pointless.

“Master, you did not send the Old Ones to the Angel. Only the Vanguards, the Leviathans. They will only consume him. That is their purpose. Yes, I saw that Castiel will also kill one of the jailers....Raphael, but I thought that Castiel was integral to releasing us. Why destroy him now?”

The Master smiled. _“Have faith, my servant”_ it said, it's voice fading along with it's form into the mists. _“Have faith, and thou shall be rewarded. This thread was only the second opening of the Portal to our realm. It will set the stage for the third, and final breaking. I shall send thee there when it is time, my most faithful servant. I will send thee there in the form of the Lightbringer's most favored creation - as a human. Thou shalt bind the three openings together, throughout time and history. Thou shalt shape and form this reality so that it suits our Will. Only then, can I and my brethren be free.”_

The Old One frowned. “Why three, Master?”

The Master shook what remained of it's head. _“The Lightbringer's Laws. It is He that formed the Universe as it is, and it is by His Laws that we are also bound. The Lightbringer is fond of the Powers of Three. The Universe is oft bound by this Rule of His. Keep searching, my servant. Find the Third Strand. It will be in the form of a Song – A Key that will shatter the bonds of our prison. A Key that one of the Lightbringer's servants will give to you – willingly. It will_ not _be Castiel that gives you this, so if he is destroyed, then so be it. We play the game on the Lightbringer's own terms. So must it be. If we break those terms, he is free to stop us. And we cannot resist Him if he does. One of our own jailers must set us free. Those are the rules.”_

With that, the Old One's Master faded completely away into the chaos, and the Old One was left alone again with it's crystals. It turned back to them.

It had spent Eternity itself searching the infinite crystals, trying desperately to find the perfect strands of time and destiny that would break their bonds. It studied the wall of crystals, it's eyes drawn to their light, studying he millions upon millions of stories and strands of destiny contained in each one – as it had already done for all time. What was another Eternity's worth of searching for it?

It wondered, not for the first time, at which point in it's immortal life, that it had gone completely mad.

 

***

 

“Have you gone _completely_ mad, Castiel?”, Crowley screamed as they raced out of the Temple of the Deep. The blue Atlantian light streaked past them in torrents, howling. Whether the sound came from the energy itself, or the monsters from Purgatory that had just been released, they could not tell.

“I'm telling you, Crowley, I don't remember a _thing_!,” Castiel shot back, face furious with anger.

They reached a large wall at the edge of the plaza before the Temple and leapt over it, huddling in the lee of it, catching their breath in a brief respite from the storm of energy.

Crowley, breathing hard, turned to study Castiel's face, who was staring in blind fury at the sky, also out of breath. He looked over at Crowley after a while, annoyed.

“What??!!”, he spit at him.

Crowley smiled, and shook his head slowly. “No, no, you're probably right. I was watching you in there. You were out of it the second we walked in.”

Castiel frowned. “Out of it, how?”

Crowley shrugged. “Wouldn't answer direct questions, stared around blankly, that sort of thing.”

Castiel's face twisted in disbelief. “And you didn't think to stop me?”

Crowley, taken aback, held a palm against his chest. “How am I supposed to know the difference between your usual mercurial self and the possessed one? I thought the Temple was short-circuiting you somehow!”

Castiel's frown deepened and he turned away. “No. It wasn't the Temple. But someone definitely had a hand in that. And I mean to find out who.”

They both stood up and started running toward Crowley's casino. Ramiel and the Angels had decided to stay back and stem the tide of creatures escaping from Purgatory at the bottleneck at the top of the Temple's staircase, hopefully long enough for Castiel and Crowley to find a way to shut it again, or get more help.

“No worries on finding out who,” Crowley huffed as they sped through the empty market. “Got a pretty good idea who. _How_ is the real question here.”

Castiel shot him a questioning glance as they passed from the market into the narrower streets of the gambling district. He watched the Atlantian stones on the sides of the road and frowned.

“Who was it then?”, he asked, slowing down, looking from side to side.

Crowley slowed down with him, looking around as well.

“The Emperor. The question is _when_ he managed to pull off this little bit of Angel programming.”

“Crowley, Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

Castiel looked at him, eyes narrowing. “I'm not a robot, Crowley,” he said, moving closer to the side of the road, staring closely at the rock. He watched it for a few seconds and backed away, letting his Angel Blade drop into his hand.

“Robot?”, Crowley asked, cocking his head and watching Castiel's actions with curiosity. “Whatever do you mean?”

Castiel shot him a withering glare. “'Short-circuited', 'Programming'. Stop referring to me like I'm some sort of defective toaster.”

Crowley frowned. “I actually did not realize that I was doing that, Castiel. I was just using the words that seemed to fit, you know what I mean?”

Castiel stood stock still, body tense. “They _don't_ fit, Crowley. Someone forcibly controlled my actions. And I am not happy about that. As a matter of fact, I'm angry. Very, very angry. And I'd like some answers.” He turned to Crowley in the dim light. “Now.....does that sound like a robot to you?”

Crowley straightened his jacket's collar and cleared his throat. “Well then, if you put it that way, my sincerest apologies, Castiel. Now, may I please ask, what in the bloody hell are you doing _now_?”, he hissed out the last in a rush.

“The lights,” Castiel replied simply, looking left and right.

“What about them?”

“They aren't marking our path,” Castiel answered, his voice dropping into a whisper, Crowley whipped his head around at the Atlantian stones. _Son of a bitch,_ he thought, _I hadn't noticed that_....

There was a faint hissing sound in the night. Something scraped against the ground, just out of sight.

“We were followed,” Castiel said, his voice laced with warning.

Crowley swallowed hard. “By what?”

As if in response, several lurking forms of pure malevolent hate came slithering out of the shadows, their eyes fixed on Castiel and Crowley, their jaws open, slaver flowing over spear-like teeth onto the ground. Deep Ones.

“Them,” Castiel said darkly, bringing his Blade to a guard position, his feet spreading apart into a combat stance.

“Castiel,” Crowley answered hoarsely. “ _Castiel_ , we barely stopped _one_ of these things back in New Orleans, how are we supposed to handle this many of them?”

The shadows moved again, and another dozen or so Deep Ones came out of the shadows and moved into a circle around them, joining the others. Crowley groaned.

“Well Crowley,” Castiel said, a grin forming on his face. “I guess you've never seen me this angry before.”

With that, Castiel sprang forward with a roar, his Blade held in front of him at the wall of ancient horrors.


	10. Everbody Into the Pool

# Everybody Into the Pool

The monster moved in virtual slow motion in Castiel's eyes. It joined it's brethren in forming a circle, closing in on it's prey. The Demon Lord had an Angel Blade of it's own.  _How odd_ , Castiel thought. But it was hardly the strangest thing that Castiel had seen this day, that was certain.

The twenty or so monsters tried to close the circle around the Angel, but he sprung at the last second, too fast to follow. Castiel watched in amazement. The Angel had power. Not quite an Archangel, but close. So powerful. He squinted, trying to read the Angel's energy. Who was it?

It didn't matter. Despite it's poor choice of traveling companions, a fellow Angel was in need. He sprung from his hiding place in the shadows where he had hidden himself after following the monsters out of the Emperor's palace and, Angel Blade flashing, cut into the nearest monstrosity near him.

The thing let out a throaty bellow and swung an arm around on him, but Castiel's instincts were well-honed, and he was able to duck out of the way of the blow, the lean muscles in his Atlantian vessel dodging with ease. He came up under the thing's arm and slammed the Blade into it's ribcage. It hollered in pain and Castiel followed it to the ground as it fell, ripping his Blade free , dark droplets of black blood flying into the air, silhouetted briefly against the cloudy moon and darker even than the starless night sky.

He saw the powerful Angel swinging wildly at his attackers, blinking in and out of place, using his power of Angel flight to suddenly disappear and reappear next to his increasingly frustrated attackers. They crouched low and hissed in rage. The Angel smiled at them.

“Yeah, life's a bitch, isn't it?”, the Angel rasped at them, drawing another hiss from the remaining creatures.

He ran forward, shoulder tucked, knocking them aside with a bull rush. Castiel moved quickly in and finished off the ones that had hit the ground and were momentarily stunned and defenseless. He saw out of the corner of his eye that the strangely attired Demon Lord was doing the same.

The monster's numbers were rapidly being reduced. There were maybe nine or so left, and, as they regrouped, they looked at each other, a bestial, but evident intelligence shimmering in their eyes. Wordlessly, they drew closer to each other and began to retreat into the shadows.

“Oh no you don't,” the Angel growled, leaping high into the air. The monsters followed his movement with their eyes, but, at the apex of his leap, the Angel disappeared....

There was faint sound of rustling wings, like a sigh in the night, and the monsters began to whip their heads around wildly, trying to find where the Angel had reappeared.

It was too late for them.

The Angel struck from behind their group, reaching around their massive necks to plunge his Blade into their jugulars. Half of them were dead before they realized what was happening. The Demon Lord rushed them as they turned to face the Angel, and started doing the same. Castiel realized that his mouth had been hanging half open in amazement at the display of raw Angelic power, but was able to shake himself out of it long enough to take down two of his own.

The night became still and quite. A couple of the monster's corpses quivered on the ground, and the Angel bent down, placing his hands on his knees, breathing hard, a smile on his face. The Demon Lord leaned back against a wall himself, sweat pouring from his forehead.

“Bloody Hell, Castiel, you weren't kidding,” the Demon Lord rasped.

Castiel frowned. “Sorry....do I know you?”, he asked cocking his head at the Demon.

The Demon turned his gaze from his Angel companion to him and frowned.

“What?”, he asked, eyes narrowing. “Better question, I think: don't I know you?” He moved away from the wall slowly, walking towards Castiel slowly, head bent to the side, looking him up and down.

“Well.....I'll be....” the Demon Lord whispered. He turned his head halfway back to his Angel companion, never taking his eyes off of Castiel. “Tell me, choir-boy, the energy signature on this Angel here ringing any bells?”

The Angel nodded silently, not looking in Castiel's direction. “Yes, Crowley, I know. I knew the second he came rushing in.”

“Huh,” the Demon Lord said simply, turning fully back to Castiel. He rubbed a hand against his stubbly chin, deep in thought. “What do you know?” He straightened up directly in front of Castiel and looked into his eyes.

“What do we do with him?”

The Angel grunted. “Good question.” He walked over to Castiel to stand next to the Demon, eyes narrowed. He looked Castiel in the eyes and nodded.

“Can you read my energy signature?”, the Angel asked.

Castiel shook his head. “Yes Brother, I can, but for the life of me, I cannot identify you. That is....very unusual.” He met the Angel's gaze and squinted himself. “How can that be? I know all of my brothers and sisters in the Host....” He looked over at the Demon and paled as a thought suddenly crossed his mind. He took a step back, his grip tightening on his Angel Blade. “You....you aren't one of the Fallen, are you? A Knight of Hell?”

The Demon let out a snort of amusement and the Angel shot him a look of annoyance. He then turned back to Castiel and shook his head slowly. “No, I am most definitely not you enemy.”

Castiel relaxed a bit, but was still wary.

“Then....who are you exactly?”, he asked tentatively.

“How can he _not_ know that?”, The Demon Lord, Crowley was his name, Castiel remembered the Angel calling him that, looked very confused.

“An effect of time-travel,” the Angel replied quickly. “If a child version of you, for instance, met the adult version, he would not recognize you easily. But you would recognize the child. It's even more so for Angels. Especially Angels that have had....appointments with Naomi.” He shook away a seemingly troubling thought. “Or, in my case, several appointments, unfortunately.”

Castiel's eyes began to widen in comprehension as he listened. “Wait, are you saying that...you're....?”

The Angel nodded. “Yes. I'm you. And you're me.”

Castiel's jaw dropped open again. “Um.....that...that  _can't be_ ...” he said, completely dumbfounded.

The Angel narrowed his eyes questioningly. “Why not?”

Castiel struggled for a moment to find words.

“You...you're power level, for one,” he managed. “How did I...I mean, with what  _means_ did I attain such power?” He glanced at the Demon Lord Crowley, his mouth twisting. “Did I....you...you're  _friends_ with this...thing?”

“Hey!”, Crowley shouted in protest.

The Angel held up a hand. He fixed Crowley with a stare and shook his head slightly before turning back to Castiel.

“I understand. To answer your question; no, I did not obtain this power from....outside means. It comes from Father.”

Castiel's eyes widened. “Father....but....”

“At least that much you can read in my energy signature. I am resonating from a Holy Quest. My....um...friend here as well.”

Castiel scanned the Angel and, reluctantly, the Demon as well. The Castiel from the future was speaking the truth. His head swam, and he shook it to try to clear his thoughts.

“A Demon. On a Holy Quest.”

The Angel nodded. “Yes. Father has His reasons. Do you really need to know more?”

Castiel shook his head quickly, looking up at his future self.

“Of course not. I would never question His will.”

The Angel grunted in acknowledgement, turning his eyes away.

“Castiel,” Crowley was standing next to the Angel, nudging him and speaking in a low tone.”Are you entirely certain that it's....wise...to be telling him all of this?”

The Angel frowned. “It doesn't matter. He'll...I'll....forget all of this in time, thanks to Naomi.” He looked at Castiel and moved towards him. “It is, however, entirely possible that there is something he can do for us.”

Castiel watched him warily. “What is it that you need, Brother?”

“Tell me, how did you get here? Were you following these creatures from somewhere?”

Castiel nodded. “I was. They were....”, he frowned, his brow furrowing as he had difficulty remembering the details. “...I was at the Palace....” He looked up at himself with a confused look on his face. “Forgive me, Brother, I....seem to be having difficulty.”

His future self nodded. “I thought so.” He reached out his hands to the sides of Castiel's head.

“Whoah, whoah, there cowboy!”, Crowley hissed. “Flux-Capacitors, remember?” The Angel looked back at him, puzzled. “I mean, _should_ you be doing that? Won't you damage the timeline or something making contact with him?”

The future Castiel frowned, turning back to the young Atlantian Castiel. “Don't be naive, Crowley. Do you really think God's universe is so fragile?”

He placed his fingers on the side of the Atlantian vessel's head and Castiel felt his eyes closing as his memories began to open up to the reading.

“He's not really me, anyway,” the future Castiel murmured. “He's me as I was seven million years ago. And believe me, I was an entirely different being. The vessel is physically not me either. I can't remember any of this. My memories have been wiped completely clean of this time period. There is no danger to the timeline whatsoever.”

He frowned, his eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids as he read deeper into his former self's thoughts.

“The Emperor has made a mistake....”, he said slowly. “He sent this Castiel away from him....presumably to safety, but....”

The past Castiel finished the thought. “....I did not seek safety. Instead I followed the creatures here....”

The future Castiel shrugged, not breaking contact, eyes still closed. “We were always a bit....rebellious, it seems.”

“No argument there....”, Crowley murmured under his breath.

“There's something hidden here,” Castiel said, eyes squeezing tighter shut. “The Emperor....there's a command here....” He lowered his head further, and beads of sweat began to break out on his brow. “I....I...can't read it. It's too well hidden, but....I can....”

His eyes snapped open and he stumbled back from his past self, eyes wild. Crowley caught him as he almost fell over. Castiel gripped Crowley's jacket, steadying himself, and then grabbed him by the lapels.

“Crowley, I saw him! I saw the Emporer's face...It's...it's....”

“Joshua Vandecourte, I know,” Crowley finished matter-of-factly. Castiel let go of Crowley's lapels. The Demon fussily straightened them, rotating his neck a little.

Castiel was watching him, his face full of confusion. “How...how long have you  _known_ that?!”, he shouted.

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly. “Figured it out in the Temple at some point. The Deep Ones, the summoning ritual. It all fit together.”

“And you never _once_ thought to mention it to me?”

Crowley glared. “ _If_ you recall, you were hardly yourself, Castiel. I was hardly about to risk revealing my epiphany to you when, for all I could tell, you were being controlled by the same said enemy. Which, I might mention, was _exactly_ what was happening Castiel!”

The future Castiel frowned. “Ok, you have a good point,” he mumbled. “But Crowley, how? What is he doing here? How did he get back here with us?”

“Rode in on the same wave as us, I'm guessing,” Crowley said, shrugging.

Castiel shook his head. “It doesn't work that way. Suriel sent _us_ back specifically. There was no way....”

“Suriel? The Archangel of Death?”, the Atlantian Castiel sputtered, interrupting. “She's been a recluse for a millenia. What does she have to do with any of this?”

Crowley glanced at him. “She moved out of the basement in our time, choir-boy.” He looked back at the other Castiel. “Any other theories, then, as to how Joshua got here?”

Castiel shook his head. “I'm not sure. I would think that it could be entirely possible that he is an immortal of some type, and simply was alive in this time, but I saw his face....he still has the scar from our encounter in New Orleans. That means that he traveled back here from _that_ time.”

Crowley rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You don't suppose he was the one behind the Portal being ripped open in our time, do you?”

Castiel nodded. “That would explain a lot. The open Portal can distort time as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means that the laws of time don't exist in realms like Hell, Heaven or Purgatory like they do here. If the Portal opens and the energy from it flows out unchecked into this world, it starts to unravel the timelines here. Chaos. He could, in theory, simultaneously exist in  _all_ times that the Portal is open in.”

“Castiel?”

“Yes?”

“My head hurts,” Crowley grimaced, turning away. He ran a hand through his hair and over the back of his head before turning back. “OK, that actually makes sense. He arrived at the same time that we did. But that would also mean that the Portal....”

“....was already cracking open when he arrived,” Castiel finished. He shook his head. “In any case, this all has something to do with the portal to Purgatory, but what, I have no idea.”

Crowley nodded. “Me either. But there's only one way to find out.”

Castiel nodded back. “Let's get going then. I'm not sure how long Ramiel will be able to hold back in the Temple.”

 

***

 

The three of them marched up to Palace's front gates, completely unchallenged. They looked around warily, but no guards, human or otherwise moved to meet them. Long shadows ran across the marble steps, and the blue Atlantian energy was still missing from the imbued stones.

Their footsteps echoed in the main hall and into the throne room, where a bright blue light started to illuminate the surroundings as they got closer.

The floor of the throne room was a charnel house. Angel bodies lay everywhere, ripped to pieces, the ashes of their burnt-out wings criss-crossing in gruesome, chaotic pattern on the floor, pillars and walls.

The light brew brighter and brighter as they approached the figure lounging casually on the throne.

Vandecourte.

“Welcome, my friends,” his voice echoed from within the blue light that seemed to form a bubble around him.

“Joshua,” Crowley growled back. “You owe me a new Humvee.”

Joshua's mouth twisted in amusement. “How droll,” he whispered back. His eyes narrowed and he straightened up in the throne when he saw the third member of their party with them.

“You? What are you doing here? I sent you away....”

The Atlantian Castiel smiled at him. “You don't command me, Emperor,” he answered simply.

“No. Apparently I do not,” Joshua said, leaning back in his throne and steepling his fingers. “Or....do I...?”, he asked , raising his eyebrows at the other Castiel. “You did do my bidding, it seems,” he said, looking around and casually swirling his finger through the blue Atlantian energy. “Very well, I might add.”

“You....it was you that commanded me to open Purgatory?”, Castiel asked.

Joshua nodded, eyes sparkling. “And not just once, my dear Castiel. Twice as a matter of fact.”

Castiel's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”, he asked in a whisper.

Joshua smiled at him. “Well, technically, here in Atlantis is the first time. The second was when you opened it back in Crowley's lab and took the power unto yourself.”

Castiel shook his head violently. “No...no...that was my decision, my decision alone.”

Joshua chuckled. “Oh, poor Angel. No, I'm afraid that's simply _not true_. You're little Atlantian version of yourself...I captured him. Implanted in him an impulse to open Purgatory, hid it deep. Away from Angel programming.”

“Opening Purgatory was my idea...” Crowley grumbled. “Castiel only was supposed to help.”

Joshua shrugged. “It was  _never_ your decision. The circumstances were inevitable. A power vacuum in Heaven and Hell, caused by the imprisonment of both Micheal and Lucifer. A civil war in Heaven, Castiel vs. Rafael. Nudges here, prods there.” He leaned forward. “How is it that you think an  _insignificant_ little Crossroads Demon such as  _you_ came to be King of Hell, Crowley? Did you really think that you accomplished that on your  _own_ ?”, he sneered. “Please. Whatever Demon was the first to get the idea to crack open Purgatory for it's power would be the one to set the events in motion. It didn't necessarily have to be you. It was pre-arranged. All of it. Molded by the strands of fate and time itself, every circumstance, every misstep, every fortune. All of it to lead us here.”

Crowley stared at Joshua, mouth held tightly closed, uncertainty etching it's way onto his features.

“All to open Purgatory,” Castiel asked, breaking the silence. “Why?”

Joshua shrugged. “Because that's where my Masters are imprisoned,” he answered simply.

“Who, the Leviathans?”, Castiel asked, squinting in confusion.

Joshua threw his head back and laughed. “Leviathans? Oh please.” he leaned forward in his chair. “That was merely the second opening of the Portal. The Leviathans were sent as a vanguard. To test you and this world's defenses. Just as when I appeared to you disguised as a cult-leader. I needed to see how you fight. Most of all, I needed to see if you still did my will, Castiel.”

Castiel glared at him and took a step forward. Crowley's eyes narrowed and held a hand against the Angel, holding him back. “What are you?”

Joshua smiled. He then pulled down his lower eyelid, and something  _moved_ underneath his skin, rippling. Leaving wakes like waves in his flesh before settling.

“I have no name, Demon, “ he said, his voice just over a whisper. “Humans would say that I am one of the Old Ones. A servant to something even greater.”

“What's that?”, Castiel asked, voice dry.

“What was born of Darkness,” Joshua answered, a malevolent smile forming on his face. “What God's equal created to do battle with the Angels, back before time began.”

“Castiel, what is he talking about?”, Crowley whispered.

“Abhoth, C'thalpa, Ghroth, Daoloth, just to name a few, of the so-called _unnameable_.... “ Castiel responded, shaking his head. “The Outer Gods. The Darknesses response in the War of Creation. Abominations.” He looked up harshly at the Throne. Joshua was smiling at him, saying nothing.

“And locked away for all eternity, Joshua, or whatever you are. They don't exist in Purgatory. They never did. What does this have to do with the Portal?”

Abruptly, the room shook and there was an echo of a loud explosion from somewhere far away in the city. The two Angels and Crowley stumbled on their feet and tried to regain their balance, steadying themselves against pillars before regaining their feet.

Joshua's smile widened. “Ah, I think that means that the Portal is fully open.” He stood up. “Shall we select a different venue, perhaps?”, he asked absently, waving a hand casually in the air.

The world blurred around them in blue light, and they found themselves on a shoreline . Castiel looked around, spotting the city of Atlantis in the distance. They were still on the continent, somewhere. A battered and bloody Ramiel and three of his Angels and one of Crowley's Demons stood on the beach with them as well. They looked around wildly.

Ramiel caught sight of Castiel and his eyes narrowed in question.

“Castiel, what....how did we get here? We were defending the entrance,...there was an explosion....”

Castiel pointed wordlessly at Joshua, who was standing casually with his arms clasped behind his back, staring out at the sea.

“Ask him,” Castiel said. “He's the one that wanted the Portal opened in the first place.”

“Emperor!, “ Ramiel called out. “What is the meaning of this?!” He held his sword in front of him and stalked towards Joshua, the Atlantian Castiel and the rest of the Angels walking quickly behind him.

“Do you know what lies  _beyond_ Purgatory, Ramiel?”, the Emperor asked softly, not looking away from him. Ramiel stopped short, eyes widening. For several moments, the only sound was that of waves breaking on the shore.

“That which can _never_ be freed,” he eventually whispered in reply. Joshua turned back to him at that, a small smile on his face.

“Exactly,” Joshua answered, nodding.”Unless Purgatory is thrice opened, and the lock to their realm is broken.”

“The lock could never be broken, not while an Archangel still lives,” Ramiel whispered in horror.

“I have taken steps to remedy that little problem as well,” Joshua said. “Soon, none of the Seven Archangels will exist, and the lock will be broken. As far as Purgatory goes,” Joshua continued, turning back to the sea, “It has already been opened three times.”

“Twice, Joshua, you said that we've only opened Purgatory twice!”, Castiel shouted in protest.

“ _You_ have only opened Purgatory twice, Angel,” Joshua said, shaking his head. “The third time was with a Song. A Key provided by one of our jailers. Now I have bound the Three openings together. It is now open for all time, never to be shut.”

Ramiel turned pale. “That's...that's impossible, only one of the _Archangels_ can give you that Key....who...who would do such a thing...?”, he asked in disbelief.

“Someone like me, of course,” Joshua murmured. “Someone that has the same goals. To dethrone the Lightbringer once and for all, and cleanse the Universe in the total balance of Power that are my Masters once more.”

Without warning, as he was still staring out into the ocean, his arm shot out faster than Castiel's eyes could follow, and drove straight through Ramiel's chest. His blood covered fingers had transformed themselves into sharp, cruel claws, dripping with gore. Ramiel's eyes widened in shock, and white light poured from his eyes and mouth. The empty vessel collapsed to the sand, Joshua's hand withdrawing from it. He turned casually away and began to walk slowly down the beach.

“Another jailer removed,” he whispered. “The lock is broken....nearly fully destroyed.” He turned back to the shocked Angels, his eyes dancing with pure madness. “Perhaps my Masters will send you their greetings now....as a courtesy. For witnesses to The Rising of the Heralds.”

The sea itself let out a deep groan, a hollow and basso note that shook the ground and their bones as well. A great wave rose up and crashed into the beach, and dark forms crawled out of the sand where the wave retreated, thousands of them, Deep Ones, along with other nameless creatures that Crowley had seen sculpted in relief on the walls of Joshua's mansion and the Temple of the Deep. They hissed and cried out in inhuman voices that shook the air.

The Angels held up their Blades, their faces and stances full of fear, a tiny light before a gigantic wall of darkness coming from the sea.

“Crowley,” Castiel whispered, his own Blade held out to his side.

“Yes?,” Crowley replied after a moment, his voice quiet, uncertain.

“Remember when you told me that you weren't there to see the War of Creation?”

“Yes, Castiel, I remember....”, Crowley whispered back.

“I think that you are about to see one.”

 

_To be continued_ ....

 


End file.
